Hb 

GOLDFIvSH 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 


THE    "GOLDFISH" 


BEING  THE  CONFESSIONS 
OF  A  SUCCESSFUL  MAN 


"They're  like  'goldfish'  swimming  round  and  round 
in  a  big  bowl.  They  can  look  through,  sort  of  dimly; 
but  they  can't  get  out!" — Hastings,  p.  315. 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1914 


Copyright,  19141  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Copyright,  1913,  1914,  by 
THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Published,  April,  1914 


"  We  have  grown  literally  afraid  to  be 
poor.  We  despise  any  one  who  elects  to  be 
poor  in  order  to  simplify  and  save  his  inner 
life.  We  have  lost  the  power  of  even  imag 
ining  what  the  ancient  idealization  of  pov 
erty  could  have  meant — the  liberation  from 
material  attachments ;  the  unbribed  soul ;  the 
manlier  indifference;  the  paying  our  way  by 
what  we  are  or  do,  and  not  by  what  we  have; 
the  right  to  fling  away  our  life  at  any  moment 
irresponsibly — the  more  athletic  trim,  in  short 
the  moral  fighting  shape.  ...  It  is  certain 
that  the  prevalent  fear  of  poverty  among  the 
educated  class  is  the  worst  moral  disease 
from  which  our  civilisation  suffers." 

^  William  James,  p.  313. 


PAGE 
MYSELF 3 

MY   FRIENDS 65 

MY   CHILDREN 117 

MY  MIND !64 

MY  MORALS          2l8 

MY   FUTURE         279 


THE  "GOLDFISH' 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

BEING  THE  CONFESSIONS    OF    A    SUCCESSFUL 

MAN 


CHAPTER  I 

MYSELF 
"My  house,  my  affairs,  my  ache  and  my  religion  — " 

I  WAS  fifty  years  old  to-day.  Half  a  century 
has  hurried  by  since  I  first  lay  in  my 
mother's  wondering  arms.  To  be  sure,  I  am  not 
old;  but  I  can  no  longer  deceive  myself  into  be 
lieving  that  I  am  still  young.  After  all,  the 
illusion  of  youth  is  a  mental  habit  consciously 
encouraged  to  defy  and  face  down  the  reality  of 
age.  If,  at  twenty,  one  feels  that  he  has  reached 
man's  estate  he,  nevertheless,  tests  his  strength  and 
abilities,  his  early  successes  or  failures,  by  the 
temporary  and  fictitious  standards  of  youth. 
At  thirty  a  professional  man  is  younger  than 

3 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  business  man  of  twenty-five.  Less  is  ex 
pected  of  him;  his  work  is  less  responsible;  he 
has  not  been  so  long  on  his  job.  At  forty  the 
doctor  or  lawyer  may  still  achieve  an  unexpected 
success.  He  has  hardly  won  his  spurs,  though  in 
his  heart  he  well  knows  his  own  limitations.  He 
can  still  say:  "I  am  young  yet!"  And  he  is. 

But  at  fifty !  Ah,  then  he  must  face  the  facts ! 
He  either  has  or  has  not  lived  up  to  his  expecta 
tions  and  he  never  can  begin  over  again.  A  crea 
ture  of  physical  and  mental  habit,  he  must  for 
the  rest  of  his  life  trudge  along  in  the  same  path, 
eating  the  same  food,  thinking  the  same  thoughts, 
seeking  the  same  pleasures — until  he  acknowl 
edges  with  grim  reluctance  that  he  is  an  old  man. 

I  confess  that  I  had  so  far  deliberately  tried 
to  forget  my  approaching  fiftieth  milestone,  or 
at  least  to  dodge  it  with  closed  eyes  as  I  passed 
it  by,  that  my  daughter's  polite  congratulation 
on  my  demicentennial  anniversary  gave  me  an 
unexpected  and  most  unpleasant  shock. 

"You  really  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!" 
she  remarked  as  she  joined  me  at  breakfast. 

4 


MYSELF 

"Why1?"  I  asked,  somewhat  resenting  being 
thus  definitely  proclaimed  as  having  crossed  into 
the  valley  of  the  shadows. 

"To  be  so  old  and  yet  to  look  so  young!"  she 
answered,  with  charming  savoir-faire. 

Then  I  knew  the  reason  of  my  resentment 
against  fate.  It  was  because  I  was  labeled  as 
old  while,  in  fact,  I  was  still  young.  Of  course 
that  was  it.  Old4?  Ridiculous!  When  my 
daughter  was  gone  I  gazed  searchingly  at  myself 
in  the  mirror.  Old?  Nonsense! 

I  saw  a  man  with  no  wrinkles  and  only  a  few 
crow's-feet  such  as  anybody  might  have  had;  with 
hardly  a  gray  hair  on  my  temples  and  with  not 
even  a  suggestion  of  a  bald  spot.  My  complexion 
and  color  were  good  and  denoted  vigorous  health ; 
my  flesh  was  firm  and  hard  on  my  cheeks;  my 
teeth  were  sound,  even  and  white;  and  my  eyes 
were  clear  save  for  a  slight  cloudiness  round  the 
iris. 

The  only  physical  defect  to  which  I  was 
frankly  willing  to  plead  guilty  was  a  flabbiness 
of  the  neck  under  the  chin,  which  might  by  a 

5 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

hostile  eye  have  been  regarded  as  slightly  double. 
For  the  rest  I  was  strong  and  fairly  well — not 
much  inclined  to  exercise,  to  be  sure,  but  able,  if 
occasion  offered,  to  wield  a  tennis  racket  or  a 
driver  with  a  vigor  and  accuracy  that  placed  me 
well  out  of  the  duffer  class. 

Yes;  I  flattered  myself  that  I  looked  like  a  boy 
of  thirty,  and  I  felt  like  one — except  for  things 
to  be  hereinafter  noted — and  yet  middle-aged 
men  called  me  "sir"  and  waited  for  me  to  sit  down 
before  doing  so  themselves;  and  my  contem 
poraries  were  accustomed  to  inquire  jocularly 
after  my  arteries.  I  was  fifty !  Another  similar 
stretch  of  time  and  there  would  be  no  I.  Twenty 
years  more — with  ten  years  of  physical  effective 
ness  if  I  were  lucky!  Thirty,  and  I  would  be 
useless  to  everybody.  Forty — I  shuddered. 
Fifty,  I  would  not  be  there.  My  room  would  be 
vacant.  Another  face  would  be  looking  into  the 
mirror. 

Unexpectedly  on  this  legitimate  festival  of  my 
birth  a  profound  melancholy  began  to  possess  my 
spirit.  I  had  lived.  I  had  succeeded  in  the  eyes 

6 


MYSELF 

of  my  fellows  and  of  the  general  public.  I  was 
married  to  a  charming  woman.  I  had  two  mar 
riageable  daughters  and  a  son  who  had  already 
entered  on  his  career  as  a  lawyer.  I  was  pros 
perous.  I  had  amassed  more  than  a  comfortable 
fortune.  And  yet — 

These  things  had  all  come,  with  a  moderate 
amount  of  striving,  as  a  matter  of  course.  With 
out  them,  undoubtedly  I  should  be  miserable;  but 
with  them — with  reputation,  money,  comfort, 
affection — was  I  really  happy*?  I  was  obliged  to 
confess  I  was  not.  Some  remark  in  Charles 
Reade's  Christie  Johnstone  came  into  my  mind — 
not  accurately,  for  I  find  that  I  can  no  longer  re 
member  literally — to  the  effect  that  the  only 
happy  man  is  he  who,  having  from  nothing 
achieved  money,  fame  and  power,  dies  before 
discovering  that  they  were  not  worth  striving 
for. 

I  put  to  myself  the  question :  Were  they  worth 
striving  for*?  Really,  I  did  not  seem  to  be  get 
ting  much  satisfaction  out  of  them.  I  began  to 
be  worried.  Was  not  this  an  attitude  of  age? 

7 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

Was  I  not  an  old  man,  perhaps,  regardless  of  my 
youthful  face4? 

At  any  rate,  it  occurred  to  me  sharply,  as  I  had 
but  a  few  more  years  of  effective  life,  did  it  not 
behoove  me  to  pause  and  see,  if  I  could,  in  what 
direction  I  was  going? — to  "stop,  look  and  lis 
ten1?" — to  take  account  of  stock? — to  form  an  idea 
of  just  what  I  was  worth  physically,  mentally  and 
morally? — to  compute  my  assets  and  liabilities? 
— to  find  out  for  myself  by  a  calm  and  dispas 
sionate  examination  whether  or  not  I  was  spirit 
ually  a  bankrupt?  That  was  the  hideous  thought 
which  like  a  deathmask  suddenly  leered  at  me 
from  behind  the  arras  of  my  mind — that  I  counted 
for  nothing — cared  really  for  nothing!  That 
when  I  died  I  should  have  been  but  a  hole  in  the 
water ! 

The  previous  evening  I  had  taken  my  two  dis 
tinctly  blase  daughters  to  see  a  popular  melo 
drama.  The  great  audience  that  packed  the 
theater  to  the  roof  went  wild,  and  my  young 
ladies,  infected  in  spite  of  themselves  with  the 
same  enthusiasm,  gave  evidences  of  a  quite  ordi- 

8 


MYSELF 

nary  variety  of  excitement;  but  I  felt  no  thrill. 
To  me  the  heroine  was  but  a  painted  dummy 
mechanically  repeating  the  lines  that  some  Jew 
had  written  for  her  as  he  puffed  a  reeking 
cigar  in  his  rear  office,  and  the  villain  but  a  popin 
jay  with  a  black  whisker  stuck  on  with  a  bit  of 
pitch.  Yet  I  grinned  and  clapped  to  deceive 
them,  and  agreed  that  it  was  the  most  inspiriting 
performance  I  had  seen  in  years. 

In  the  last  act  there  was  a  horserace  cleverly 
devised  to  produce  a  convincing  impression  of 
reality.  A  rear  section  of  the  stage  was  made  to 
revolve  from  left  to  right  at  such  a  rate  that  the 
horses  were  obliged  to  gallop  at  their  utmost 
speed  in  order  to  avoid  being  swept  behind  the 
scenes.  To  enhance  the  realistic  effect  the  scenery 
itself  was  made  to  move  in  the  same  direction. 
Thus,  amid  a  whirlwind  of  excitement  and  the 
wild  banging  of  the  orchestra,  the  scenery  flew 
by,  and  the  horses,  neck  and  neck,  raced  across 
the  stage — without  progressing  a  single  foot. 

And  the  thought  came  to  me  as  I  watched  them 
that,  after  all,  this  horserace  was  very  much  like 

9 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  life  we  all  of  us  were  living  here  in  the  city. 
The  scenery  was  rushing  by,  time  was  flying,  the 
band  was  playing — while  we,  like  the  animals  on 
the  stage,  were  in  a  breathless  struggle  to  attain 
some  goal  to  which  we  never  got  any  nearer. 

Now  as  I  smoked  my  cigarette  after  breakfast 
I  asked  myself  what  I  had  to  show  for  my  fifty 
years.  What  goal  or  goals  had  I  attained1?  Had 
anything  happened  except  that  the  scenery  had 
gone  by1?  What  would  be  the  result  should  I 
stop  and  go  with  the  scenery4?  Was  the  race 
profiting  me  anything?  Had  it  profited  anything 
to  me  or  anybody  else  *?  And  how  far  was  I  typi 
cal  of  a  class? 

A  moment's  thought  convinced  me  that  I  was 
the  prototype  of  thousands  all  over  the  United 
States.  "A  certain  rich  man !"  That  was  me.  I 
had  yawned  for  years  at  dozens  of  sermons  about 
men  exactly  like  myself.  I  had  called  them 
twaddle.  I  had  rather  resented  them.  I  was  not 
a  sinner — that  is,  I  was  not  a  sinner  in  the  ordi 
nary  sense  at  all.  I  was  a  good  man — a  very 
good  man.  I  kept  all  the  commandments  and  I 

10 


MYSELF 

acted  in  accordance  with  the  requirements  of  every 
standard  laid  down  by  other  men  exactly  like  my 
self.  Between  us,  I  now  suddenly  saw,  we  made 
the  law  and  the  prophets.  We  were  all  judging 
ourselves  by  self  made  tests.  I  was  just  like  all 
the  rest.  What  was  true  of  me  was  true  of  them. 

And  what  were  we,  the  crowning  achievement 
of  American  civilization,  like?  I  had  not  thought 
of  it  before.  Here,  then,  was  a  question  the  an 
swer  to  which  might  benefit  others  as  well  as  my 
self.  I  resolved  to  answer  it  if  I  could — to  write 
down  in  plain  words  and  cold  figures  a  truthful 
statement  of  what  I  was  and  what  they  were. 

I  had  been  a  fairly  wide  reader  in  my  youth, 
and  yet  I  did  not  recall  anywhere  precisely  this 
sort  of  self-analysis.  Confessions,  so  called,  were 
usually  amatory  episodes  in  the  lives  of  the  au 
thors,  highly  spiced  and  colored  by  emotions  often 
not  felt  at  the  time,  but  rather  inspired  by  mem 
ory.  Other  analyses  were  the  contented  narra 
tives  of  supposedly  poverty-stricken  people  who 
pretended  they  had  no  desires  in  the  world  save 
to  milk  the  cows  and  watch  the  grass  grow.  "Ad- 

11 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

ventures  in  contentment"  interested  me  no  more 
than  adventures  in  unbridled  passion. 

I  was  going  to  try  and  see  myself  as  I  was — 
naked.  To  be  of  the  slightest  value,  everything 
I  set  down  must  be  absolutely  accurate  and  the 
result  of  faithful  observation.  I  believed  I  was 
a  good  observer.  I  had  hea.rd  myself  described 
as  a  "cold  proposition,"  and  coldness  was  a  sine 
qua  non  of  my  enterprise.  I  must  brief  my  case 
as  if  I  were  an  attorney  in  an  action  at  law.  Or 
rather,  I  must  make  an  analytical  statement  of 
fact  like  that  which  usually  prefaces  a  judicial 
opinion.  I  must  not  act  as  a  pleader,  but  first 
as  a  keen  and  truthful  witness  and  then  as  an  im 
partial  judge.  And  at  the  end  I  must  either  de 
clare  myself  innocent  or  guilty  of  a  breach  of  trust 
— pronounce  myself  a  faithful  or  an  unworthy 
servant. 

I  must  dispassionately  examine  and  set  forth 
the  actual  conditions  of  my  home  life,  my  busi 
ness  career,  my  social  pleasures,  the  motives  ani 
mating  myself,  my  family,  my  professional  asso 
ciates,  and  my  friends — weigh  our  comparative 

12 


MYSELF 

influence  for  good  or  evil  on  the  community  and 
diagnose  the  general  mental,  moral  and  physical 
condition  of  the  class  to  which  I  belonged. 

To  do  this  aright,  I  must  see  clearly  things  as 
they  were  without  regard  to  popular  approval  or 
prejudice,  and  must  not  hesitate  to  call  them  by 
their  right  names.  I  must  spare  neither  myself 
nor  anybody  else.  It  would  not  be  altogether 
pleasant.  The  disclosures  of  the  microscope  are 
often  more  terrifying  than  the  amputations  of  the 
knife;  but  by  thus  studying  both  myself  and  my 
contemporaries  I  might  perhaps  arrive  at  the  solu 
tion  of  the  problem  that  was  troubling  me — that 
is  to  say,  why  I,  with  every  ostensible  reason  in 
the  world  for  being  happy,  was  not !  This,  then, 
was  to  be  my  task. 

I  have  already  indicated  that  I  am  a  sound, 
moderately  healthy,  vigorous  man,  with  a  slight 
tendency  to  run  to  fat.  I  am  five  feet  ten  inches 
tall,  weigh  a  hundred  and  sixty-two  pounds,  have 
gray  eyes,  a  rather  aquiline  nose,  and  a  close- 
clipped  dark-brown  mustache,  with  enough  gray 

13 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

hairs  in  it  to  give  it  dignity.  My  movements  are 
quick;  I  walk  with  a  spring.  I  usually  sleep,  ex 
cept  when  worried  over  business.  I  do  not  wear 
glasses  and  I  have  no  organic  trouble  of  which  I 
am  aware.  The  New  York  Life  Insurance  Com 
pany  has  just  reinsured  me  after  a  thorough  physi 
cal  examination.  My  appetite  for  food  is  not 
particularly  good,  and  my  other  appetites,  in  spite 
of  my  vigor,  are  by  no  means  keen.  Eating  is 
about  the  most  active  pleasure  that  I  can  experi 
ence;  but  in  order  to  enjoy  my  dinner  I  have  to 
drink  a  cocktail,  and  my  doctor  says  that  is  very 
bad  for  my  health. 

My  personal  habits  are  careful,  regular  and 
somewhat  luxurious.  I  bathe  always  once  and 
generally  twice  a  day.  Incidentally  I  am  accus 
tomed  to  scatter  a  spoonful  of  scented  powder  in 
the  water  for  the  sake  of  the  odor.  I  like  hot 
baths  and  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  Turkish 
bath  at  my  club.  After  steaming  myself  for  half 
an  hour  and  taking  a  cold  plunge,  an  alcohol  rub 
and  a  cocktail,  I  feel  younger  than  ever;  but  the 
sight  of  my  fellow  men  in  the  bath  revolts  me. 


MYSELF 

Almost  without  exception  they  have  flabby,  pen 
dulous  stomachs  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  rest 
of  their  bodies.  Most  of  them  are  bald  and  their 
feet  are  excessively  ugly,  so  that,  as  they  lie 
stretched  out  on  glass  slabs  to  be  rubbed  down  with 
salt  and  scrubbed,  they  appear  to  be  deformed.  I 
speak  now  of  the  men  of  my  age.  Sometimes  a  boy 
comes  in  that  looks  like  a  Greek  god;  but  generally 
the  boys  are  as  weird-looking  as  the  men.  I  am 
rambling,  however.  Anyhow  I  am  less  repulsive 
than  most  of  them.  Yet,  unless  the  human  race 
has  steadily  deteriorated,  I  am  surprised  that  the 
Creator  was  not  discouraged  after  his  first  at 
tempt. 

I  clothe  my  body  in  the  choicest  apparel  that  my 
purse  can  buy,  but  am  careful  to  avoid  the  expres 
sions  of  fancy  against  which  Polonius  warns  us. 
My  coats  and  trousers  are  made  in  London,  and 
so  are  my  underclothes,  which  are  woven  to  order 
of  silk  and  cotton.  My  shoes  cost  me  fourteen 
dollars  a  pair;  my  silk  socks,  six  dollars;  my  or 
dinary  shirts,  five  dollars;  and  my  dress  shirts, 
fifteen  dollars  each.  On  brisk  evenings  I  wear  to 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

dinner  and  the  opera  a  mink-lined  overcoat,  for 
which  my  wife  recently  paid  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  The  storage  and  insurance  on  this 
coat  come  to  twenty-five  dollars  annually  and  the 
repairs  to  about  forty-five.  I  am  rather  fond  of 
overcoats  and  own  half  a  dozen  of  them,  all  made 
in  Inverness. 

I  wear  silk  pajamas — pearl -gray,  pink,  buff  and 
blue,  with  frogs,  cuffs  and  monograms — which  by 
the  set  cost  me  forty  dollars.  I  also  have  a  pair  of 
pearl  evening  studs  to  wear  with  my  dress  suit,  for 
which  my  wife  paid  five  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
and  my  cuff  buttons  cost  me  a  hundred  and  sev 
enty-five.  Thus,  if  I  am  not  an  exquisite — which 
I  distinctly  am  not — I  am  exceedingly  well 
dressed,  and  I  am  glad  to  be  so.  If  I  did  not  have 
a  fur  coat  to  wear  to  the  opera  I  should  feel  em 
barrassed,  out  of  place  and  shabby.  All  the  men 
who  sit  in  the  boxes  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House  have  fur  overcoats. 

As  a  boy  I  had  very  few  clothes  indeed,  and 
those  I  had  were  made  to  last  a  long  time.  But 
now  without  fine  raiment  I  am  sure  I  should  be 

16 


MYSELF 

miserable.  I  cannot  imagine  myself  shabby.  Yet 
I  can  imagine  any  one  of  my  friends  being  shabby 
without  feeling  any  uneasiness  about  it — that  is  to 
say,  I  am  the  first  to  profess  a  democracy  of  spirit 
in  which  clothes  cut  no  figure  at  all.  I  assert  that 
it  is  the  man,  and  not  his  clothes,  that  I  value; 
but  in  my  own  case  my  silk-and-cotton  undershirt 
is  a  necessity,  and  if  deprived  of  it  I  should,  I 
know,  lose  some  attribute  of  self. 

At  any  rate,  my  bluff,  easy,  confident  manner 
among  my  fellow  men,  which  has  played  so  im 
portant  a  part  in  my  success,  would  be  impossible. 
I  could  never  patronize  anybody  if  my  necktie 
were  frayed  or  my  sleeves  too  short.  I  know  that 
my  clothes  are  as  much  a  part  of  my  entity  as  my 
hair,  eyes  and  voice — more  than  any  of  the  rest  of 
me. 

Based  on  the  figures  given  above  I  am  worth 
— the  material  part  of  me — as  I  step  out  of  my 
front  door  to  go  forth  to  dinner,  something  over 
fifteen  hundred  dollars.  If  I  were  killed  in 
a  railroad  accident  all  these  things  would  be 
packed  carefully  in  a  box,  inventoried,  and  given 

17 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

a  much  greater  degree  of  attention  than  my  mere 
body.  I  saw  Napoleon's  boots  and  waistcoat  the 
other  day  in  Paris  and  I  felt  that  he  himself  must 
be  there  in  the  glass  case  beside  me. 

Any  one  who  at  Abbotsford  has  felt  of  the  white 
beaver  hat  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  knows  that  he  has 
touched  part — and  a  very  considerable  part — of 
Sir  Walter.  The  hat,  the  boots,  the  waistcoat  are 
far  less  ephemeral  than  the  body  they  protect,  and 
indicate  almost  as  much  of  the  wearer's  character 
as  his  hands  and  face.  So  I  am  not  ashamed  of 
my  silk  pajamas  or  of  the  geranium  powder  I 
throw  in  my  bath.  They  are  part  of  me. 

But  is  this  "me"  limited  to  my  body  and  my 
clothes  ?  I  drink  a  cup  of  coffee  or  a  cocktail : 
after  they  are  consumed  they  are  part  of  me;  are 
they  not  part  of  me  as  I  hold  the  cup  or  the  glass 
in  my  hand*?  Is  my  coat  more  characteristic  of 
me  than  my  house — my  sleevelinks  than  my  wife 
or  my  collie  dog*?  I  know  a  gentlewoman  whose 
sensitive,  quivering,  aristocratic  nature  is  expressed 
far  more  in  the  Russian  wolfhound  that  shrinks 
always  beside  her  than  in  the  aloof,  though  charm- 

18 


MYSELF 

ing,  expression  of  her  face.  No;  not  only  my 
body  and  my  personal  effects  but  everything  that 
is  mine  is  part  of  me — my  chair  with  the  rubbed 
arm;  my  book,  with  its  marked  pages;  my  office; 
my  bank  account,  and  in  some  measure  my  friend 
himself. 

Let  us  agree  that  in  the  widest  sense  all  that  I 
have,  feel  or  think  is  part  of  me — either  of  my 
physical  or  mental  being;  for  surely  my  thoughts 
are  more  so  than  the  books  that  suggest  them,  and 
my  sensations  of  pleasure  or  satisfaction  equally 
so  with  the  dinner  I  have  eaten  or  the  cigar  I  have 
smoked.  My  ego  is  the  sum  total  of  all  these 
things.  And  if  the  cigar  is  consumed,  the  dinner 
digested,  the  pleasure  flown,  the  thought  forgotten, 
the  waistcoat  or  shirt  discarded — so,  too,  do  the  tis 
sues  of  the  body  dissolve,  disintegrate  and  change. 
I  can  no  more  retain  permanently  the  physical  ele 
ments  of  my  personality  than  I  can  the  mental  or 
spiritual. 

What,  then,  am  I — who,  the  Scriptures  assert, 
am  made  in  the  image  of  God?  Who  and  what 
is  this  being  that  has  gradually  been  evolved  dur- 

19 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

ing  fifty  years  of  life  and  which  I  call  Myself? 
For  whom  my  father  and  my  mother,  their  fathers 
and  mothers,  and  all  my  ancestors  back  through  the 
gray  mists  of  the  forgotten  past,  struggled,  starved, 
labored,  suffered,  and  at  last  died.  To  what  end 
did  they  do  these  things'?  To  produce  me1? 
God  forbid! 

Would  the  vision  of  me  as  I  am  to-day  have  in 
spired  my  grandfather  to  undergo,  as  cheerfully  as 
he  did,  the  privations  and  austerities  of  his  long 
and  arduous  service  as  a  country  clergyman — or 
my  father  to  die  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  at 
Little  Round  Top1?  What  am  I — what  have  I 
ever  done,  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  to  de 
serve  those  sacrifices?  Have  I  ever  even  incon 
venienced  myself  for  others  in  any  way?  Have 
I  ever  repaid  this  debt?  Have  I  in  turn  ad 
vanced  the  flag  that  they  and  hundreds  of  thou 
sands  of  others,  equally  unselfish,  carried  for 
ward? 

Have  I  ever  considered  my  obligation  to  those 
who  by  their  patient  labors  in  the  field  of  scientific 
discovery  have  contributed  toward  my  well-being 

20 


MYSELF 

and  the  very  continuance  of  my  life1?  Or  have  I 
been  content  for  all  these  years  to  reap  where  I 
have  not  sown?  To  accept,  as  a  matter  of  course 
and  as  my  due,  the  benefits  others  gave  years  of 
labor  to  secure  for  me?  It  is  easy  enough  for  me 
to  say :  No — that  I  have  thought  of  them  and  am 
grateful  to  them.  Perhaps  I  am,  in  a  vague  fash 
ion.  But  has  whatever  feeling  of  obligation  I 
may  possess  been  evidenced  in  my  conduct  to 
ward  my  fellows'? 

I  am  proud  of  my  father's  heroic  death  at 
Gettysburg;  in  fact  I  am  a  member,  by  virtue  of 
his  rank  in  the  Union  Army,  of  what  is  called  The 
Loyal  Legion.  But  have  I  ever  fully  considered 
that  he  died  for  me?  Have  I  been  loyal  to  him? 
Would  he  be  proud  or  otherwise — is  he  proud  or 
otherwise  of  me,  his  son?  That  is  a  question  I 
can  only  answer  after  I  have  ascertained  just  what 
I  am. 

Now  for  over  quarter  of  a  century  I  have 
worked  hard — harder,  I  believe,  than  most  men. 
From  a  child  I  was  ambitious.  As  a  boy,  people 
would  point  to  me  and  say  that  I  would  get  ahead. 

21 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

Well,  I  have  got  ahead.  Back  in  the  town  where 
I  was  born  I  am  spoken  of  as  a  "big  man."  Old 
men  and  women  stop  me  on  the  main  street  and 
murmur:  "If  only  your  father  could  see  you 
now!"  They  all  seem  tremendously  proud  of 
me  and  feel  confident  that  if  he  could  see  me  he 
would  be  happy  for  evermore.  And  I  know  they 
are  quite  honest  about  it  all.  For  they  assume 
in  their  simple  hearts  that  my  success  is  a 
real  success.  Yet  I  have  no  such  assurance 
about  it. 

Every  year  I  go  back  and  address  the  gradu 
ating  class  in  the  high  school — the  high  school  I 
attended  as  a  boy.  And  I  am  "Exhibit  A" — the 
tangible  personification  of  all  that  the  fathers  and 
mothers  hope  their  children  will  become.  It  is 
the  same  way  with  the  Faculty  of  my  college. 
They  have  given  me  an  honorary  degree  and  I  have 
given  them  a  drinking  fountain  for  the  campus. 
We  are  a  mutual-admiration  society. 

I  am  always  picked  by  my  classmates  to  preside 
at  our  reunions,  for  I  am  the  conspicuous,  shining 
example  of  success  among  them.  They  are  proud 

22 


MYSELF 

of  me,  without  envy.  "Well,  old  man,"  they 
say,  "you've  certainly  made  a  name  for  yourself!" 
They  take  it  for  granted  that,  because  I  have  made 
money  and  they  read  my  wife's  name  in  the  society 
columns  of  the  New  York  papers,  I  must  be  com 
pletely  satisfied. 

And  in  a  way  I  am  satisfied  with  having 
achieved  that  material  success  which  argues  the 
possession  of  brains  and  industry;  but  the  en 
comiums  of  the  high-school  principal  and  the  con 
gratulations  of  my  college  mates,  sincere  and  well- 
meaning  as  they  are,  no  longer  quicken  my  blood ; 
for  I  know  that  they  are  based  on  a  total  ignor 
ance  of  the  person  they  seek  to  honor.  They  see 
a  heavily  built,  well-groomed,  shrewd-looking 
man,  with  clear-cut  features,  a  ready  smile,  and  a 
sort  of  brusque  frankness  that  seems  to  them  the 
index  of  an  honest  heart.  They  hear  him  speak 
in  a  straight- forward,  direct  way  about  the  "Old 
Home,"  and  the  "Dear  Old  College,"  and  "All 
Our  Friends" — quite  touching  at  times,  I  assure 
you — and  they  nod  and  say,  "Good  fellow,  this! 
No  frills —  straight  from  the  heart!  No  wonder 

23 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

he  has  got  on  in  the  city !     Sterling  chap !     Hur 
rah!" 

Perhaps,  after  all,  the  best  part  of  me  comes 
out  on  these  occasions.  But  it  is  not  the  me  that 
I  have  worked  for  half  a  century  to  build  up;  it  is 
rather  what  is  left  of  the  me  that  knelt  at  my 
mother's  side  forty  years  ago.  Yet  I  have  no 
doubt  that,  should  these  good  parents  of  mine  see 
how  I  live  in  New  York,  they  would  only  be  the 
more  convinced  of  the  greatness  of  my  success— 
the  success  to  achieve  which  I  have  given  the  un 
remitting  toil  of  thirty  years. 

And  as  I  now  clearly  see  that  the  results  of  this 
striving  and  the  objects  of  my  ambition  have  been 
largely,  if  not  entirely,  material,  I  shall  take  the 
space  to  set  forth  in  full  detail  just  what  this  ma 
terial  success  amounts  to,  in  order  that  I  may  the 
better  determine  whether  it  has  been  worth  strug 
gling  for.  Not  only  are  the  figures  that  follow 
accurate  and  honest  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  they  represent  the  very  minimum  of  ex 
penditure  in  the  class  of  New  York  families  to 

24 


MYSELF 

which  mine  belongs.  They  may  at  first  sight 
seem  extravagant;  but  if  the  reader  takes  the  trou 
ble  to  verify  them — as  I  have  done,  alas!  many 
times  to  my  own  dismay  and  discouragement — he 
will  find  them  economically  sound.  This,  then, 
is  the  catalogue  of  my  success. 

I  possess  securities  worth  about  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars  and  I  earn  at  my  pro 
fession  from  thirty  to  forty  thousand  dollars  a 
year.  This  gives  me  an  annual  income  of  from 
sixty-five  thousand  to  seventy-five  thousand  dol 
lars.  In  addition  I  own  a  house  on  the  sunny  side 
of  an  uptown  cross  street  near  Central  Park  which 
cost  me,  fifteen  years  ago,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  and  is  now  worth  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand.  I  could  sell  it  for  that.  The 
taxes  alone  amount  to  thirty-two  hundred  dollars 
— the  repairs  and  annual  improvements  to  about 
twenty-five  hundred.  As  the  interest  on  the 
value  of  the  property  would  be  twelve  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  it  will  be  seen  that  merely 
to  have  a  roof  over  my  head  costs  me  annually 
over  eighteen  thousand  dollars. 

25 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

My  electric-light  bills  are  over  one  hundred  dol 
lars  a  month.  My  coal  and  wood  cost  me  even 
more,  for  I  have  two  furnaces  to  heat  the  house, 
an  engine  to  pump  the  water,  and  a  second  range  in 
the  laundry.  One  man  is  kept  busy  all  the  time 
attending  to  these  matters  and  cleaning  the  win 
dows.  I  pay  my  butler  eighty  dollars  a  month; 
my  second  man  fifty-five;  my  valet  sixty;  my 
cook  seventy;  the  two  kitchen  maids  twenty-five 
each;  the  head  laundress  forty-five;  the  two  second 
laundresses  thirty-five  each;  the  parlor  maid  thirty; 
.the  two  housemaids  twenty-five  each;  my  wife's 
maid  thirty-five;  my  daughters'  maid  thirty;  the 
useful  man  fifty;  the  pantry  maid  twenty-five. 
My  house  payroll  is,  therefore,  six  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  month,  or  seventy-eight  hundred  a 
year. 

We  could  not  possibly  get  along  without  every 
one  of  these  servants.  To  discharge  one  of  them 
would  mean  that  the  work  would  have  to  be  done 
in  some  other  way  at  a  vastly  greater  expense. 
Add  this  to  the  yearly  sum  represented  by  the 
house  itself,  together  with  the  cost  of  heating  and 

26 


MYSELF 

lighting,  and  you  have  twenty-eight  thousand 
four  hundred  dollars. 

Unforeseen  extras  make  this,  in  fact,  nearer 
thirty  thousand  dollars.  There  is  usually  some 
alteration  under  way,  a  partition  to  be  taken  out, 
a  hall  to  be  paneled,  a  parquet  floor  to  be  relaid, 
a  new  sort  of  heating  apparatus  to  be  installed, 
and  always  plumbing.  Generally,  also,  at  least 
one  room  has  to  be  done  over  and  refurnished 
every  year,  and  this  is  an  expensive  matter.  The 
guest  room,  recently  refurnished  in  this  way 
at  my  daughter's  request,  cost  thirty-seven  hun 
dred  dollars.  Since  we  average  not  more  than 
two  guests  for  a  single  night  annually,  their  visits 
from  one  point  of  view  will  cost  me  this  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  apiece. 

Then,  too,  styles  change.  There  is  always  new 
furniture,  new  carpets,  new  hangings — pictures  to 
be  bought.  Last  season  my  wife  changed  the 
drawing  room  from  Empire  to  Louis  Seize  at  a 
very  considerable  outlay. 

Our  food,  largely  on  account  of  the  number  of 
our  servants,  costs  us  from  a  thousand  to  twelve 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

hundred  dollars  a  month.  In  the  spring  and  au 
tumn  it  is  a  trifle  less — in  winter  it  is  frequently 
more;  but  it  averages,  with  wine,  cigars,  ice,  spring 
water  and  sundries,  over  fifteen  thousand  dollars 
a  year. 

We  rent  a  house  at  the  seashore  or  in  the  coun 
try  in  summer  at  from  five  to  eight  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  usually  find  it  necessary  to  employ  a 
couple  of  men  about  the  place. 

Our  three  saddle-horses  cost  us  about  two  thou 
sand  dollars  for  stabling,  shoeing  and  incidentals; 
but  they  save  me  at  least  that  in  doctors'  bills. 

Since  my  wife  and  daughters  are  fond  of  society, 
and  have  different  friends  and  different  nightly  en 
gagements,  we  are  forced  to  keep  two  motors  and 
two  chauffeurs,  one  of  them  exclusively  for  night- 
work.  I  pay  these  men  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars  each  a  month,  and  the  garage  bill  is 
usually  two  hundred  and  fifty  more,  not  counting 
tires.  At  least  one  car  has  to  be  overhauled  every 
year  at  an  average  expense  of  from  two  hundred 
and  fifty  to  five  hundred  dollars.  Both  cars  have 
to  be  painted  annually.  My  motor  service  win- 

28 


MYSELF 

ter  and  summer  costs  on  a  conservative  estimate 
at  least  eight  thousand  dollars. 

I  allow  my  wife  five  thousand  dollars;  my 
daughters  three  thousand  each ;  and  my  son,  who  is 
not  entirely  independent,  twenty-five  hundred. 
This  is  supposed  to  cover  everything;  but  it  does 
not — it  barely  covers  their  bodies.  I  myself  ex 
pend,  having  no  vices,  only  about  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars. 

The  bills  of  our  family  doctor,  the  specialists 
and  the  dentist  are  never  less  than  a  thousand 
dollars,  and  that  is  a  minimum.  They  would 
probably  average  more  than  double  that. 

Our  spring  trip  to  Paris,  for  rest  and  clothing, 
has  never  cost  me  less  than  thirty-five  hundred  dol 
lars,  and  when  it  comes  to  less  than  five  thousand 
it  is  inevitably  a  matt'er  of  mutual  congratulation. 

Our  special  entertaining,  our  opera  box,  the 
theater  and  social  frivolities  aggregate  no  in 
considerable  sum,  which  I  will  not  overestimate  at 
thirty-five  hundred  dollars. 

Our  miscellaneous  subscriptions  to  charity  and 
the  like  come  to  about  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 

29 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

The  expenses  already  recited  total  nearly 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars,  or  as  much  as  my 
maximum  income.  And  this  annual  budget  con 
tains  no  allowance  for  insurance,  books,  losses  at 
cards,  transportation,  sundries,  the  purchase  of  new 
furniture,  horses,  automobiles,  or  for  any  of  that 
class  of  expenditure  usually  referred  to  as  "prin 
cipal"  or  "plant."  I  inevitably  am  obliged  to 
purchase  a  new  motor  every  two  or  three  years — 
usually  for  about  six  thousand  dollars;  and,  as  I 
have  said,  the  furnishing  of  our  city  house  is  never 
completed. 

It  is  a  fact  that  for  the  last  ten  years  I  have 
found  it  an  absolute  impossibility  to  get  along 
on  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  a  year,  even  liv 
ing  without  apparent  extravagance.  I  do  not  run 
a  yacht  or  keep  hunters  or  polo  ponies.  My  wife 
does  not  appear  to  be  particularly  lavish  and  con 
tinually  complains  of  the  insufficiency  of  her  al 
lowance.  Our  table  is  not  Lucullan,  by  any 
means;  and  we  rarely  have  game  out  of  season, 
hothouse  fruit  or  many  flowers.  Indeed,  there  is 
an  elaborate  fiction  maintained  by  my  wife,  cook 

30 


MYSELF 

and  butler  that  our  establishment  is  run  economic 
ally  and  strictly  on  a  business  basis.  Perhaps  it 
is.  I  hope  so.  I  do  not  know  anything  about  it. 
Anyhow,  here  is  the  smallest  budget  on  which  I 
can  possibly  maintain  my  household  of  five 
adults: 

ANNUAL    BUDGET— MINIMUM— FOR    FAMILY 
OF  FIVE  PERSONS 

Taxes   on   city   house $  3,200 

Repairs,  improvements  and  minor  alterations.  .  .  2,500 

Rent  of  country   house — average 7,000 

Gardeners  and  stablemen,   and  so   on 800 

Servants'    payroll 7,800 

Food   supplies    15,000 

Light  and  heat — gas,  electricity,  coal  and  wood  2,400 

Saddle-horses — board  and  so  on 2,000 

Automobile   expenses     8,000 

Wife's  allowance — emphatically  insufficient   ....  5,000 

Daughters'  allowance — two    6,000 

Son's   allowance     2,500 

Self — clubs,   clothes,   and   so   on 2,500 

Medical    attendance — including   dentist .  1,000 

Charity    1,500 

Travel — wife's  annual  spring  trip  to  Paris 3,500 

Opera,    theater,    music,    entertaining    at    restau 
rants,  and  so  on 3,500 

Total $74,200 

31 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

A  fortune  in  itself,  you  may  say!  Yet  judged 
by  the  standards  of  expenditure  among  even  the 
unostentatiously  wealthy  in  New  York  it  is  mod 
erate  indeed.  A  friend  of  mine  who  has  only 
recently  married  glanced  over  my  schedule  and 
said,  "Why,  it's  ridiculous,  old  man!  No  one 
could  live  in  New  York  on  any  such  sum." 

Any  attempt  to  "keep  house"  in  the  old-fash 
ioned  meaning  of  the  phrase  would  result  in 
domestic  disruption.  No  cook  who  was  not  al 
lowed  to  do  the  ordering  would  stay  with  us.  It 
is  hopeless  to  try  to  save  money  in  our  domestic 
arrangements.  I  have  endeavored  to  do  so  once 
or  twice  and  repented  of  my  rashness.  One  can 
not  live  in  the  city  without  motors,  and  there  is 
no  object  in  living  at  all  if  one  cannot  keep  up 
a  scale  of  living  that  means  comfort  and  lack  of 
worry  in  one's  household. 

The  result  is  that  I  am  always  pressed  for  money 
even  on  an  income  of  seventy-five  thousand  dollars. 
And  every  year  I  draw  a  little  on  my  capital. 
Sometimes  a  lucky  stroke  on  the  market  or  an  un 
expected  fee  evens  things  up  or  sets  me  a  little 

32 


MYSELF 

ahead;  but  usually  January  first  sees  me  selling  a 
few  bonds  to  meet  an  annual  deficit.  Needless  to 
say,  I  pay  no  personal  taxes.  If  I  did  I  might  as 
well  give  up  the  struggle  at  once.  When  I  write 
it  all  down  in  cold  words  I  confess  it  seems  ridic 
ulous.  Yet  my  family  could  not  be  happy  living 
in  any  other  way. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  the  item  for  charity  on 
the  preceding  schedule  is  somewhat  disproportion 
ate  to  the  amount  of  the  total  expenditure.  I  of 
fer  no  excuse  or  justification  for  this.  I  am 
engaged  in  an  honest  exposition  of  fact — for  my 
own  personal  satisfaction  and  profit,  and  for  what 
lessons  others  may  be  able  to  draw  from  it.  My 
charities  are  negligible. 

The  only  explanation  which  suggests  itself  to 
my  mind  is  that  I  lead  so  circumscribed  and 
guarded  a  life  that  these  matters  do  not  obtrude 
themselves  on  me.  I  am  not  brought  into  contact 
with  the  maimed,  the  halt  and  the  blind ;  if  I  were 
I  should  probably  behave  toward  them  like  a  gen 
tleman.  The  people  I  am  thrown  with  are  all 
sleek  and  well  fed;  but  even  among  those  of  my 

33 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

friends  who  make  a  fad  of  charity  I  have  never 
observed  any  disposition  to  deprive  themselves  of 
luxuries  for  the  sake  of  others. 

Outside  of  the  really  poor,  is  there  such  a  thing 
as  genuine  charity  among  us1?  The  church  cer 
tainly  does  not  demand  anything  approximating 
self-sacrifice.  A  few  dollars  will  suffice  for  any 
appeal.  I  am  not  a  professing  Christian,  but 
the  church  regards  me  tolerantly  and  takes 
my  money  when  it  can  get  it.  But  how  little 
it  gets!  I  give  frequently — almost  constantly — 
but  in  most  instances  my  giving  is  less  an  act  of 
benevolence  than  the  payment  of  a  tax  upon  my 
social  standing.  I  am  compelled  to  give.  If  I 
could  not  be  relied  upon  to  take  tickets  to  charity 
entertainments  and  to  add  my  name  to  the  sub 
scription  lists  for  hospitals  and  relief  funds  I 
should  lose  my  caste.  One  cannot  be  too  cold  a 
proposition.  I  give  to  these  things  grudgingly 
and  because  I  cannot  avoid  it. 

Of  course  the  aggregate  amount  thus  disposed 
of  is  really  not  large  and  I  never  feel  the  loss  of  it. 
Frankly,  people  of  my  class  rarely  inconvenience 

34 


MYSELF 

themselves  for  the  sake  of  anybody,  whether  their 
own  immediate  friends  or  the  sick,  suffering  and 
sorrowful.  It  is  trite  to  say  that  the  clerk  earn 
ing  one  thousand  dollars  deprives  himself  of  more 
in  giving  away  fifty  than  the  man  with  an  income 
of  twenty  thousand  dollars  in  giving  away  five 
thousand.  It  really  costs  the  clerk  more  to  go 
down  into  his  pocket  for  that  sum  than  the  rich 
man  to  draw  his  check  for  those  thousands. 

Where  there  is  necessity  for  generous  and  im 
mediate  relief  I  occasionally,  but  very  rarely,  con 
tribute  two  hundred  and  fifty  or  five  hundred 
dollars.  My  donation  is  always  known  and 
usually  is  noticed  with  others  of  like  amount 
in  the  daily  papers.  I  am  glad  to  give  the 
money  and  I  have  a  sensation  of  making  a  sub 
stantial  sacrifice  in  doing  so.  Obviously,  how 
ever,  it  has  cost  me  really  nothing!  I  spend 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  or  more  every  week 
or  so  on  an  evening's  entertainment  for  fifteen  or 
twenty  of  my  friends  and  think  nothing  of  it.  It 
is  part  of  my  manner  of  living,  and  my  manner  of 
living  is  an  advertisement  of  my  success — and  ad- 

35 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

vertising  in  various  subtle  ways  is  a  business  neces 
sity.  Yet  if  I  give  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
to  a  relief  fund  I  have  an  inflation  of  the  heart  and 
feel  conscious  of  my  generosity. 

I  can  frankly  say,  therefore,  that  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned  my  response  to  the  ordinary  appeal  for 
charity  is  purely  perfunctory  and  largely,  if  not 
entirely,  dictated  by  policy;  and  the  sum  total  of 
my  charities  on  an  income  of  seventy-five  thousand 
dollars  a  year  is  probably  less  than  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  or  about  two  per  cent. 

Yet,  thinking  it  over  dispassionately,  I  do  not 
conclude  from  this  that  I  am  an  exceptionally  self 
ish  man.  I  believe  I  represent  the  average  in  this 
respect.  I  always  respond  to  minor  calls  in 
a  way  that  pleases  the  recipient  and  causes  a 
genuine  glow  of  satisfaction  in  my  own  breast.  I 
toss  away  nickels,  dimes  and  quarters  with  prodi 
gality;  and  if  one  of  the  office  boys  feels  out  of 
sorts  I  send  him  off  for  a  week's  vacation  on  full 
pay.  I  make  small  loans  to  seedy  fellows  who 
have  known  better  days  and  I  treat  the  servants 
handsomely  at  Christmas. 

36 


MYSELF 

I  once  sent  a  boy  to  college — that  is,  I  promised 
him  fifty  dollars  a  year.  He  died  in  his  junior 
term,  however.  Sisters  of  Mercy,  the  postman,  a 
beggar  selling  pencils  or  shoelaces — almost  any 
body,  in  short,  that  actually  comes  within  range — 
can  pretty  surely  count  on  something  from  me. 
But,  I  confess  I  never  go  out  of  my  way  to  look 
for  people  in  need  of  help.  I  have  not  the 
time. 

Several  of  the  items  in  my  budget,  how 
ever,  are  absurdly  low,  for  the  opera-box  which,  as 
it  is,  we  share  with  several  friends  and  which  is 
ours  but  once  in  two  weeks,  alone  costs  us  twelve 
hundred  dollars;  and  my  bill  at  the  Ritz — where 
we  usually  dine  before  going  to  the  theater  or  sup 
afterward — is  apt  to  be  not  less  than  one  hundred 
dollars  a  month.  Besides,  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  does  not  begin  to  cover  my  actual  personal 
expenses;  but  as  I  am  accustomed  to  draw  checks 
against  my  office  account  and  thrust  the  money  in 
my  pocket,  it  is  difficult  to  say  just  what  I  do  cost 
myself. 

Moreover,  a  New  York  family  like  mine  would 
37 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

have  to  keep  surprisingly  well  in  order  to  get  along 
with  but  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  for  doctors. 
Even  our  dentist  bills  are  often  more  than  that. 
We  do  not  go  to  the  most  fashionable  operators 
either.  There  does  not  seem  to  be  any  particular 
way  of  finding  out  who  the  good  ones  are  except 
by  experiment.  I  go  to  a  comparatively  cheap 
one.  Last  month  he  looked  me  over,  put  in  two 
tiny  fillings,  cleansed  my  teeth  and  treated  my 
gums.  He  only  required  my  presence  once  for 
half  an  hour,  once  for  twenty  minutes,  and  twice 
for  ten  minutes — on  the  last  two  occasions  he 
filched  the  time  from  the  occupant  of  his  other 
chair.  My  bill  was  forty-two  dollars.  As  he 
claims  to  charge  a  maximum  rate  of  ten  dollars  an 
hour — which  is  about  the  rate  for  ordinary  legal 
services — I  have  spent  several  hundred  dollars' 
worth  of  my  own  time  trying  to  figure  it  all  out. 
But  this  is  nothing  to  the  expense  incident  to  the 
straightening  of  children's  teeth. 

When  I  was  a  child  teeth  seemed  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  but  my  boy  and  girls  were  all  obliged 
to  spend  several  years  with  their  small  mouths  full 

38 


MYSELF 

of  plates,  wires  and  elastic  bands.  In  each  case 
the  cost  was  from  eighteen  hundred  to  two  thou 
sand  dollars.  A  friend  of  mine  with  a  large  fam 
ily  was  compelled  to  lay  out  during  the  tooth-grow 
ing  period  of  his  offspring  over  five  thousand 
dollars  a  year  for  several  years.  Their  teeth  are 
not  straight  at  that. 

Then,  semioccasionally,  weird  cures  arise  and 
seize  hold  of  the  female  imagination  and  send  our 
wives  and  daughters  scurrying  to  the  parlors  of 
fashionable  specialists,  who  prescribe  long  periods 
of  rest  at  expensive  hotels — a  room  in  one's  own 
house  will  not  do — and  strange  diets  of  mush  and 
hot  water,  with  periodical  search  parties,  lighted 
by  electricity,  through  the  alimentary  canal. 

One  distinguished  medico's  discovery  of  the 
terra  incognita  of  the  stomach  has  netted  him,  I 
am  sure,  a  princely  fortune.  There  seems  to 
be  something  peculiarly  fascinating  about  the 
human  interior.  One  of  our  acquaintances  be 
came  so  interested  in  hers  that  she  issued  en 
graved  invitations  for  a  fashionable  party  at 
which  her  pet  doctor  delivered  a  lecture  on  the 

39 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

gastrointestinal  tract.  All  this  comes  high,  and 
I  have  not  ventured  to  include  the  cost  of  such  ex 
travagances  in  my  budget,  though  my  wife  has 
taken  cures  six  times  in  the  last  ten  years,  either  at 
home  or  abroad. 

And  who  can  prophesy  the  cost  of  the  annual 
spring  jaunt  to  Europe?  I  have  estimated  it  at 
thirty-five  hundred  dollars;  but,  frankly,  I  never 
get  off  with  any  such  trifling  sum.  Our  passage 
alone  costs  us  from  seven  hundred  to  a  thousand 
dollars,  or  even  more;  and  our  ten-days'  motor 
trip — the  invariable  climax  of  the  expedition  ren 
dered  necessary  by  the  fatigue  incident  to  shopping 
—at  least  five  hundred  dollars. 

Our  hotel  bills  in  Paris,  our  taxicabs,  theater 
tickets,  and  dinners  at  expensive  restaurants  cost 
us  at  least  a  thousand  dollars,  without  estimating 
the  total  of  those  invariable  purchases  that  are 
paid  for  out  of  the  letter  of  credit  and  not  charged 
to  my  wife's  regular  allowance.  Even  in  Paris 
she  will,  without  a  thought,  spend  fifty  dollars  at 
Reboux'  for  a  simple  spring  hat — and  this  is  not 
regarded  as  expensive.  Her  dresses  cost  as  much 

40 


MYSELF 

as  if  purchased  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  I  am  obliged 
to  pay  a  sixty  per  cent  duty  on  them  besides. 

The  restaurants  of  Paris — the  chic  ones — charge 
as  much  as  those  in  New  York;  in  fact,  chic  Paris 
exists  very  largely  for  the  exploitation  of  the  wives 
of  rich  Americans.  The  smart  French  woman 
buys  no  such  dresses  and  pays  no  such  prices.  She 
knows  a  clever  little  modiste  down  some  alley 
leading  off  the  Rue  St.  Honore  who  will  saunter 
into  Worth's,  sweep  the  group  of  models  with  her 
eye,  and  go  back  to  her  own  shop  and  turn  out  the 
latest  fashions  at  a  quarter  of  the  money. 

A  French  woman  in  society  will  have  the  same 
dress  made  for  her  by  her  own  dressmaker  for  sev 
enty  dollars  for  which  an  American  will  cheerfully 
pay  three  hundred  and  fifty.  And  the  reason 
is,  that  she  has  been  taught  from  girlhood  the  rela 
tive  values  of  things.  She  knows  that  mere 
clothes  can  never  really  take  the  place  of  charm 
and  breeding;  that  expensive  entertainments,  no 
matter  how  costly  and  choice  the  viands,  can  never 
give  equal  pleasure  with  a  cup  of  tea  served  with 
vivacity  and  wit;  and  that  the  best  things  of  Paris 

41 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

are,  in  fact,  free  to  all  alike — the  sunshine  of  the 
boulevards,  the  ever-changing  spectacle  of  the 
crowds,  the  glamour  of  the  evening  glow  beyond 
the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  and  the  lure  of  the  lamp- 
strewn  twilight  of  the  Champs  Elysees. 

So  she  gets  a  new  dress  or  two  and,  after  the 
three  months  of  her  season  in  the  Capital  are  over, 
is  content  to  lead  a  more  or  less  simple  family  life 
in  the  country  for  the  rest  of  the  year.  One  rarely 
sees  a  real  Parisian  at  one  of  the  highly  advertised 
all-night  resorts  of  Paris.  No  Frenchman  would 
pay  the  price. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine  took  his  wife  and  a 
couple  of  friends  one  evening  to  what  is  known  as 
L'Abbaye,  in  Montmartre.  Knowing  that  it  had 
a  reputation  for  being  expensive,  he  resisted,  some 
what  self-consciously,  the  delicate  suggestions  of 
the  head  waiter  and  ordered  only  one  bottle  of 
champagne,  caviar  for  four,  and  a  couple  of  cigars. 
After  watching  the  dancing  for  an  hour  he  called 
for  his  bill  and  found  that  the  amount  was  two 
hundred  and  fifty  francs.  Rather  than  be  con 
spicuous  he  paid  it — foolishly.  But  the  American 

42 


MYSELF 

who  takes  his  wife  abroad  must  have  at  least  one 
vicarious  taste  of  fast  life,  no  matter  what  it  costs, 
and  he  is  a  lucky  fellow  who  can  save  anything 
out  of  a  bill  of  exchange  that  has  cost  him  five 
thousand  dollars. 

After  dispassionate  consideration  of  the  matter 
I  hazard  the  sincere  opinion  that  my  actual  dis 
bursements  during  the  last  ten  years  have  averaged 
not  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
However,  let  us  be  conservative  and  stick  to  our 
original  figure  of  seventy-five  thousand  dollars. 
It  costs  me,  therefore,  almost  exactly  two  hundred 
dollars  a  day  to  support  five  persons.  We  all  of 
us  complain  of  what  is  called  the  high  cost  of  liv 
ing,  but  men  of  my  class  have  no  real  knowledge 
of  what  it  costs  them  to  live. 

The  necessaries  are  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket. 
It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  bother  over  the  price 
of  rib  roast  a  pound,  or  fresh  eggs  a  dozen,  when 
one  is  smoking  fifty-cent  cigars.  Essentially  it 
costs  me  as  much  to  lunch  off  a  boiled  egg,  served 
in  my  dining  room  at  home,  as  to  carve  the  breast 
off  a  canvasback.  At  the  end  of  the  month  my 

43 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

bills  would  not  show  the  difference.  It  is  the  over 
head — or,  rather,  in  housekeeping,  the  underground 
— charge  that  counts.  That  boiled  egg  or  the  can- 
vasback  represents  a  running  expense  of  at  least 
a  hundred  dollars  a  day.  Slight  variations  in  the 
cost  of  foodstuffs  or  servants'  wages  amount  to 
practically  nothing. 

And  what  do  I  get  for  my  two  hundred  dollars 
a  day  and  my  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  a  year 
that  the  other  fellow  does  not  enjoy  for,  let  us  say, 
half  the  money?  Let  us  readjust  the  budget  with 
an  idea  to  ascertaining  on  what  a  family  or  five 
could  live  in  luxury  in  the  city  of  New  York 
a  year.  I  could  rent  a  good  house  for  five  thou 
sand  dollars  and  one  in  the  country  for  two  thou 
sand  dollars;  and  I  would  have  no  real-estate 
taxes.  I  could  keep  eight  trained  servants  for  three 
thousand  dollars  and  reduce  the  cost  of  my  sup 
plies  to  five  thousand  almost  without  knowing  it. 
Of  course  my  light  and  heat  would  cost  me  twelve 
hundred  dollars  and  my  automobile  twenty-five 
hundred.  My  wife,  daughters  and  son  ought  to 
be  able  to  manage  to  dress  on  five  thousand  dollars, 

44 


MYSELF 

among  them.  I  could  give  away  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  and  allow  one  thousand  for  doctors'  bills, 
fifteen  hundred  for  my  own  expenses,  and  still 
have  twenty-three  hundred  for  pleasure — and  be 
living  on  thirty  thousand  dollars  a  year  in  luxury. 
I  could  even  then  entertain,  go  to  the  theater, 
and  occasionally  take  my  friends  to  a  restaurant. 
And  what  would  I  surrender4?  My  saddle-horses, 
my  extra  motor,  my  pretentious  houses,  my  opera 
box,  my  wife's  annual  spending  bout  in  Paris — 
that  is  about  all.  And  I  would  have  a  cash  bal 
ance  of  forty-five  thousand  dollars. 

REVISED  BUDGET 

Rent — city  and  country $7,000 

Servants    3,000 

Supplies     5,000 

Light   and   heat 1,200 

Motor     2,500 

Allowance  to  family 5,000 

Charity    1,500 

Medical  attendance    1,000 

Self    1,500 

Travel,  pleasure,  music  and  sundries 2,300 


Total $30,000 

45 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

In  a  smaller  city  I  could  do  the  same  thing  for 
half  the  money — fifteen  thousand  dollars;  in 
Rome,  Florence  or  Munich  I  could  live  like  a 
prince  on  half  the  sum.  I  am  paying  appar 
ently  forty-five  thousand  dollars  each  year  for  the 
veriest  frills  of  existence — for  geranium  powder  in 
my  bath,  for  fifteen  extra  feet  in  the  width  of  my 
drawing  room,  for  a  seat  in  the  parterre  instead  of 
the  parquet  at  the  opera,  for  the  privilege  of  hav 
ing  a  second  motor  roll  up  to  the  door  when  it  is 
needed,  and  that  my  wife  may  have  seven  new 
evening  dresses  each  winter  instead  of  two.  And 
in  reality  these  luxuries  mean  nothing  to  me.  I 
do  not  want  them.  I  am  not  a  whit  more  comfort 
able  with  than  without  them. 

If  an  income  tax  should  suddenly  cut  my  bank 
account  in  half  it  would  not  seriously  incon 
venience  me.  No  financial  cataclasm,  however 
dire,  could  deprive  me  of  the  genuine  luxuries  of 
my  existence.  Yet  in  my  revised  schedule  of  ex 
penditure  I  would  still  be  paying  nearly  a  hun 
dred  dollars  a  day  for  the  privilege  of  living. 
What  would  I  be  getting  for  my  money — even 


MYSELF 

then*?  What  would  I  receive  as  a  quid  pro  quo 
for  my  thirty  thousand  dollars? 

I  am  not  enough  of  a  materialist  to  argue  that 
my  advantage  over  my  less  successful  fellow  man 
lies  in  having  a  bigger  house,  men  servants  instead 
of  maid  servants,  and  smoking  cigars  alleged  to 
be  from  Havana  instead  of  from  Tampa;  but  I 
believe  I  am  right  in  asserting  that  my  social  op 
portunities — in  the  broader  sense — are  vastly 
greater  than  his.  I  am  meeting  bigger  men  and 
have  my  fingers  in  bigger  things.  I  give  orders 
and  he  takes  them. 

My  opinion  has  considerable  weight  in  impor 
tant  matters,  some  of  which  vitally  affect  large 
communities.  My  astuteness  has  put  millions  into 
totally  unexpected  pockets  and  defeated  the  fault 
ily  expressed  intentions  of  many  a  testator.  I  can 
go  to  the  White  House  and  get  an  immediate  hear 
ing,  and  I  can  do  more  than  that  with  judges  of 
the  Supreme  Court  in  their  private  chambers. 

In  others  words  I  am  an  active  man  of  affairs,  a 
man  among  men,  a  man  of  force  and  influence, 
who,  as  we  say,  "cuts  ice"  in  the  metropolis.  But 

47 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  economic  weakness  in  the  situation  lies  in  the 
fact  that  a  boiled  egg  only  costs  the  ordinary  citi 
zen  ten  cents  and  it  costs  me  almost  its  weight  in 
gold. 

Compare  this  de-luxe  existence  of  mine  with 
that  of  my  forebears.  We  are  assured  by  most 
biographers  that  the  subject  of  their  eulogies  was 
born  of  poor  but  honest  parents.  My  own  parents 
were  honest,  but  my  father  was  in  comfortable  cir 
cumstances  and  was  able  to  give  me  the  advantages 
incident  to  an  education,  first  at  the  local  high 
school  and  later  at  college.  I  did  not  as  a  boy  get 
up  while  it  was  still  dark  and  break  the  ice  in  the 
horsetrough  in  order  to  perform  my  ablutions.  I 
was,  to  be  sure,  given  to  understand — and  al 
ways  when  a  child  religiously  believed — that  this 
was  my  father's  unhappy  fate.  It  may  have  been 
so,  but  I  have  a  lingering  doubt  on  the  subject  that 
refuses  to  be  dissipated.  I  can  hardly  credit  the 
idea  that  the  son  of  the  village  clergyman  was 
obliged  to  go  through  any  such  rigorous  physical 
discipline  as  a  child. 


MYSELF 

Even  in  1820  there  were  such  things  as  hired 
men  and  tradition  declares  that  the  one  in  my 
grandparents'  employ  was  known  as  Jonas,  had 
but  one  good  eye  and  was  half-witted.  It  mod 
estly  refrains  from  asserting  that  he  had  only  one 
arm  and  one  leg.  My  grandmother  did  the  cook 
ing — her  children  the  housework;  but  Jonas  was 
their  only  servant,  if  servant  he  can  be  called.  It 
is  said  that  he  could  perform  wonders  with  an  ax 
and  could  whistle  the  very  birds  off  the  trees. 

Some  time  ago  I  came  upon  a  trunkful  of  letters 
written  by  my  grandfather  to  my  father  in  1835, 
when  the  latter  was  in  college.  They  were  closely 
written  with  a  fine  pen  in  a  small,  delicate  hand, 
and  the  lines  of  ink,  though  faded,  were  like  steel 
engraving.  They  were  stilted,  godly — in  an  in 
genuous  fashion — at  times  ponderously  humorous, 
full  of  a  mild  self-satisfaction,  and  inscribed  under 
the  obvious  impression  that  only  the  writer  could 
save  my  father's  soul  from  hell  or  his  kidneys  from 
destruction.  The  goodness  of  the  Almighty,  as 
exemplified  by  His  personal  attention  to  my 
grandfather,  the  efficacy  of  oil  distilled  from  the 

49 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

liver  of  the  cod,  and  the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  came 
in  for  an  equal  share  of  attention.  How  the  good 
old  gentleman  must  have  enjoyed  writing  those 
letters!  And,  though  I  have  never  written  my 
own  son  three  letters  in  my  life,  I  suppose  the 
desire  of  self-expression  is  stirring  in  me  now  these 
seventy-eight  years  later.  I  wonder  what  he 
would  have  said  could  he  read  these  confessions  of 
mine — he  who  married  my  grandmother  on  a  capi 
tal  of  twenty-five  dollars  and  enough  bleached 
cotton  to  make  half  a  dozen  shirts!  My  annual 
income  would  have  bought  the  entire  county  in 
which  he  lived. 

My  son  scraped  through  Harvard  on  twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars  a  year.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  left  undisclosed  liabilities  behind  him.  Most 
of  this  allowance  was  spent  on  clothes,  private 
commons  and  amusement.  Lying  before  me  is  my 
father's  term  bill  at  college  for  the  first  half  year 
of  1835.  The  items  are: 

To  tuition $12.00 

Room   rent    3.00 

Use  of  University  Library 1 .00 

50 


MYSELF 

Servants'  hire,  printing,  and  so  on $  2.00 

Repairs     80 

Damage  for  glass 09 

Commons  bill,  15^  weeks  at  $1.62  a  week 25.11 

Steward's   salary    2.00 

Public  fuel 50 

Absent  from  recitation  without  excuse — once 03 


Total    $46.53 

The  glass  damage  at  nine  cents  and  the  three 
cents  for  absence  without  excuse  give  me  joy. 
Father  was  human,  after  all! 

Economically  speaking,  I  do  not  think  that  his 
clothes  cost  him  anything.  He  wore  my  grand 
father's  old  ones.  There  were  no  amusements  in 
those  days,  except  going  to  see  the  pickled  curios 
in  the  old  Boston  Museum.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
drove  to  college  in  the  family  chaise — if  there 
was  one.  I  do  not  think  that,  in  fact,  there 
was. 

On  a  conservative  estimate  he  could  not  have 
cost  my  grandfather  much,  if  anything,  over  a  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year.  On  this  basis  I  could,  on  my 
present  income,  send  seven  hundred  and  fifty  fath- 

51 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

ers  to  college  annually!  A  curious  thought,  is  it 
not? 

Undoubtedly  my  grandfather  went  barefoot  and 
trudged  many  a  weary  mile,  winter  and  summer, 
to  and  from  the  district  school.  He  worked  his 
way  through  college.  He  married  and  reared  a 
family.  He  educated  my  father.  He  watched 
over  his  flock  in  sickness  and  in  health,  and  he 
died  at  a  ripe  old  age,  mourned  by  the  entire  coun 
tryside. 

My  father,  in  his  turn,  was  obliged  to  carve  out 
his  own  fate.  He  left  the  old  home,  moved  to  the 
town  where  I  was  born,  and  by  untiring  industry 
built  up  a  law  practice  which  for  those  days  was  as 
tonishingly  lucrative.  Then,  as  I  have  said,  the 
war  broke  out  and,  enlisting  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  met  death  on  the  battlefield.  During  his  com 
paratively  short  life  he  followed  the  frugal  habits 
acquired  in  his  youth.  He  was  a  simple  man. 

Yet  I  am  his  son!  What  would  he  say  could 
he  see  my  valet,  my  butler,  my  French  cook? 
Would  he  admire  and  appreciate  my  paintings,  my 
objets  d'art>  my  rugs  and  tapestries,  my  rare  old 

52 


MYSELF 

furniture*?  As  an  intelligent  man  he  would  un 
doubtedly  have  the  good  taste  to  realize  their  value 
and  take  satisfaction  in  their  beauty;  but  would  he 
be  glad  that  I  possessed  them4?  That  is  a  ques 
tion.  Until  I  began  to  pen  these  confessions  I 
should  have  unhesitatingly  answered  it  in  the  af 
firmative.  Now  I  am  inclined  to  wonder  a  little. 
I  think  it  would  depend  on  how  far  he  believed 
that  my  treasures  indicated  on  my  own  part  a  gen 
uine  love  of  art,  and  how  far  they  were  but  the  evi 
dences  of  pomp  and  vainglory. 

Let  me  be  honest  in  the  matter.  I  own  some 
masterpieces  of  great  value.  At  the  time  of  their 
purchase  I  thought  I  had  a  keen  admiration  for 
them.  I  begin  to  suspect  that  I  acquired  them 
less  because  I  really  cared  for  such  things  than  be 
cause  I  wished  to  be  considered  a  connoisseur. 
There  they  hang — my  Corots,  my  Romneys,  my 
Teniers,  my  Daubignys.  But  they  might  as  well 
be  the  merest  chromos.  I  never  look  at  them.  I 
have  forgotten  that  they  exist.  So  have  the  rest 
of  my  family. 

It  is  the  same  way  with  my  porcelains  and  tapes- 
53 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tries.  Of  course  they  go  to  make  up  the  tout  en 
semble  of  a  harmonious  and  luxurious  home,  but 
individually  they  mean  nothing  to  me.  I  should 
not  miss  them  if  they  were  all  swept  out  of  exist 
ence  tomorrow  by  a  fire.  I  am  no  happier  in  my 
own  house  than  in  a  hotel.  My  pictures  are  noth 
ing  but  so  much  furniture  requiring  heavy  insur 
ance. 

It  is  somewhat  the  same  with  our  cuisine.  My 
food  supply  costs  me  forty  dollars  a  day.  We  use 
the  choicest  teas,  the  costliest  caviar  and  relishes, 
the  richest  sterilized  milk  and  cream,  the  freshest 
eggs,  the  choicest  cuts  of  meat.  We  have  course 
after  course  at  lunch  and  dinner;  yet  I  go  to  the 
table  without  an  appetite  and  my  food  gives  me 
little  pleasure.  But  this  style  of  living  is  the  con 
crete  expression  of  my  success.  Because  I  have 
risen  above  my  fellows  I  must  be  surrounded  by 
these  tangible  evidences  of  prosperity. 

I  get  up  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  un 
less  I  have  been  out  very  late  the  night  before,  in 
which  case  I  rest  until  ten  or  later.  I  step  into  a 

54 


MYSELF 

porcelain  tub  in  which  my  servant  has  drawn  a 
warm  bath  of  water  filtered  by  an  expensive  proc 
ess  which  makes  it  as  clear  and  blue  as  crystal. 
When  I  leave  my  bath  my  valet  hands  me  one  by 
one  the  garments  that  have  been  carefully  laid  out 
in  order.  He  is  always  hovering  round  me,  and  I 
rather  pride  myself  on  the  fact  that  I  lace  my  own 
shoes  and  brush  my  own  hair.  Then  he  gives  me 
a  silk  handkerchief  and  I  stroll  into  my  upstairs 
sitting  room  ready  for  breakfast. 

My  daughters  are  still  sleeping.  They  rarely 
get  up  before  eleven  in  the  morning,  and 
my  wife  and  I  do  not,  as  a  rule,  breakfast  to 
gether.  We  have  tried  that  arrangement  and 
found  it  wanting,  for  we  are  slightly  irritable  at 
this  hour.  My  son  has  already  gone  downtown. 
So  I  enter  the  chintz-furnished  room  alone  and  sit 
down  by  myself  before  a  bright  wood  fire  and 
glance  at  the  paper,  which  the  valet  has  ironed, 
while  I  nibble  an  egg,  drink  a  glass  of  orange  juice, 
swallow  a  few  pieces  of  toast  and  quaff  a  great  cup 
of  fragrant  coffee. 

Coffee !  Goddess  of  the  nerve-exhausted !  Sweet 
55 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

invigorator  of  tired  manhood!  Savior  of  the 
American  race!  I  could  not  live  without  you! 
One  draft  at  your  Pyrenean  fountain  and  I  am 
young  again !  For  a  moment  the  sun  shines  as  it 
used  to  do  in  my  boyhood's  days;  my  blood  quick 
ens;  I  am  eager  to  be  off  to  business — to  do,  no 
matter  what. 

I  enter  the  elevator  and  sink  to  the  ground  floor. 
My  valet  and  butler  are  waiting,  the  former  with 
my  coat  over  his  arm,  ready  to  help  me  into  it. 
Then  he  hands  me  my  hat  and  stick,  while  the 
butler  opens  the  front  door  and  escorts  me 
to  my  motor.  The  chauffeur  touches  his  hat. 
I  light  a  small  and  excellent  Havana  cigar 
and  sink  back  among  the  cushions.  The  interior 
of  the  car  smells  faintly  of  rich  upholstery  and  vio 
let  perfume.  My  daughters  have  been  to  a  ball 
the  night  before.  If  it  is  fine  I  have  the  landau- 
lette  hood  thrown  open  and  take  the  air  as  far  as 
Washington  Square — if  not,  I  am  deposited  at  the 
Subway. 

Ten  o'clock  sees  me  at  my  office.  The  effect  of 
the  coffee  has  begun  to  wear  off  slightly.  I  am  a 
little  peevish  with  my  secretary,  who  has  opened 

56 


MYSELF 

and  arranged  all  my  letters  on  my  desk.  There 
are  a  pile  of  dividend  checks,  a  dozen  appeals  for 
charity  and  a  score  of  letters  relating  to  my  busi 
ness.  I  throw  the  begging  circulars  into  the  waste- 
basket  and  dictate  most  of  my  answers  in  a  little 
over  half  an  hour.  Then  come  a  stream  of  ap 
pointments  until  lunchtime. 

On  the  top  floor  of  a  twenty-story  building,  its 
windows  commanding  a  view  of  all  the  waters  sur 
rounding  the  end  of  Manhattan  Island,  is  my 
lunch  club.  Here  gather  daily  at  one  o'clock  most 
of  the  men  with  whom  I  am  associated — bankers, 
railroad  promoters  and  other  lawyers.  I  lunch 
with  one  or  more  of  them.  A  cocktail  starts  my 
appetite,  for  I  have  no  desire  for  food;  and  for  the 
sake  of  appearances  I  manage  to  consume  an  egg 
Benedictine  and  a  ragout  of  lamb,  with  a  des 
sert. 

Then  we  wander  into  the  smoking  room  and 
drink  black  coffee  and  smoke  long  black  cigars.  I 
have  smoked  a  cigar  or  two  in  my  office  already 
and  am  beginning,  as  usual,  to  feel  a  trifle  seedy. 
Here  we  plan  some  piece  of  business  or  devise  a 

57 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

method  of  escaping  the  necessity  of  fulfilling  some 
corporate  obligation. 

Two  or  half-past  finds  me  in  my  office  again. 
The  back  of  the  day  is  broken.  I  take  things 
more  easily.  Later  on  I  smoke  another  cigar.  I 
discuss  general  matters  with  my  junior  partners. 
At  half-past  four  I  enter  my  motor,  which  is  wait 
ing  at  the  Wall  Street  entrance  of  the  building. 
At  my  uptown  club  the  men  are  already  dropping 
in  and  gathering  round  the  big  windows.  We  all 
call  each  other  by  our  first  names,  yet  few  of  us 
know  anything  of  one  another's  real  character. 
We  have  a  bluff  heartiness,  a  cheerful  cynicism 
that  serves  in  place  of  sincerity,  and  we  ask  no 
questions. 

Our  subjects  of  conversation  are  politics,  the 
stock  market,  "big"  business,  and  the  more  fashion 
able  sports.  There  is  no  talk  of  art  or  books,  no 
discussion  of  subjects  of  civic  interest.  After  our 
cocktails  we  usually  arrange  a  game  of  bridge  and 
play  until  it  is  time  to  go  home  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Until  this  time,  usually,  I  have  not  met  my 
wife  and  daughters  since  the  night  before.  They 

58 


MYSELF 

have  had  their  own  individual  engagements  for 
luncheon  and  in  the  afternoon,  and  perhaps  have 
not  seen  each  other  before  during  the  day.  But 
we  generally  meet  at  least  two  or  three  times  a 
week  on  the  stairs  or  in  the  hall  as  we  are  going 
out.  Sometimes,  also,  I  see  my  son  at  this  time. 

It  will  be  observed  that  our  family  life  is  not 
burdensome  to  any  of  us : — not  that  we  do  not  wish 
to  see  one  another,  but  we  are  too  busy  to  do  so. 
My  daughters  seem  to  be  fond  of  me.  They  are 
proud  of  my  success  and  their  own  position;  in  fact 
they  go  out  in  the  smartest  circles.  They  are 
smarter,  indeed,  than  their  mother  and  myself;  for, 
though  we  know  everybody  in  society,  we  have 
never  formed  a  part  of  the  intimate  inner  New 
port  circle.  But  my  daughters  are  inside  and  in 
the  very  center  of  the  ring.  You  can  read  their 
names  as  present  at  every  smart  function  that 
takes  place. 

From  Friday  until  Monday  they  are  always  in 
the  country  at  week-end  parties.  They  are  in 
vited  to  go  to  Bermuda,  Palm  Beach,  California, 
Aiken  and  the  Glacier  National  Park.  They  live 

59 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

on  yachts  and  in  private  cars  and  automobiles. 
They  know  all  the  patter  of  society  and  everything 
about  everybody.  They  also  talk  surprisingly 
well  about  art,  music  and  international  politics. 
They  are  as  much  at  home  in  Rome,  Paris  and  Lon 
don  as  they  are  in  New  York,  and  are  as  familiar 
with  Scotland  as  Long  Island.  They  constantly 
amaze  me  by  the  apparent  scope  of  their  informa 
tion. 

They  are  women  of  the  world  in  a  sense  unheard 
of  by  my  father's  generation.  They  have  been 
presented  at  court  in  London,  Berlin  and  Rome, 
and  have  had  a  social  season  at  Cairo;  in  fact  I  feel 
at  a  great  personal  disadvantage  in  talking  with 
them.  They  are  respectful,  very  sweet  in  a  self- 
controlled  and  capable  sort  of  way,  and,  so  far  as 
I  can  see,  need  no  assistance  in  looking  out  for 
themselves.  They  seem  to  be  quite  satisfied  with 
their  mode  of  life.  They  do  as  they  choose,  and 
ask  for  no  advice  from  either  their  mother  or  my 
self. 

My  boy  also  leads  his  own  life.  He  is  rarely 
at  home  except  to  sleep.  I  see  less  of  him  than  of 

60 


MYSELF 

my  daughters.  During  the  day  he  is  at  the  of 
fice,  where  he  is  learning  to  be  a  lawyer.  At  wide 
intervals  we  lunch  together;  but  I  find  that  he  is 
interested  in  things  which  do  not  appeal  to  me  at 
all.  Just  at  present  he  has  become  an  expert — al 
most  a  professional — dancer  to  syncopated  music. 
I  hear  of  him  as  dancing  for  charity  at  public  en 
tertainments,  and  he  is  in  continual  demand  for 
private  theatricals  and  parties.  He  is  astonish 
ingly  clever  at  it. 

Yet  I  cannot  imagine  Daniel  Webster  or  Rufus 
Choate  dancing  in  public  even  in  their  leisure  mo 
ments.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  better  for  him  to 
dance  than  to  do  some  other  things.  It  is  good  ex 
ercise;  and,  to  be  fair  with  him,  I  cannot  imagine 
Choate  or  Webster  playing  bridge  or  taking 
scented  baths.  But,  frankly,  it  is  a  far  cry  from 
my  clergyman  grandfather  to  my  ragtime  dancing 
offspring.  Perhaps,  however,  the  latter  will  serve 
his  generation  in  his  own  way. 

It  may  seem  incredible  that  a  father  can  be  such 
a  stranger  to  his  children,  but  it  is  none  the  less  a 
fact.  I  do  not  suppose  we  dine  together  as  a 

6l 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

family  fifteen  times  in  the  course  of  the  winter. 
When  we  do  so  we  get  along  together  very  nicely, 
but  I  find  myself  conversing  with  my  daughters 
much  as  if  they  were  women  I  had  met  casually 
out  at  dinner.  They  are  literally  "perfect 
ladies." 

When  they  were  little  I  was  permitted  a  certain 
amount  of  decorous  informality,  but  now  I  have 
to  be  very  careful  how  I  kiss  them  on  account  of 
the  amount  of  powder  they  use.  They  have,  both 
of  them,  excellent  natural  complexions,  but  they 
are  not  satisfied  unless  their  noses  have  an  arti 
ficial  whiteness  like  that  of  marble.  I  suspect, 
also,  that  their  lips  have  a  heightened  color. 
At  all  events  I  am  careful  to  "mind  the 
paint."  But  they  are — either  because  of  these 
things  or  in  spite  of  them — extraordinarily  pretty 
girls — prettier,  I  am  forced  to  admit,  than  their 
mother  was  at  their  age.  Now,  as  I  write,  I  won 
der  to  what  end  these  children  of  mine  have 
been  born  into  the  world — how  they  will  as 
sist  in  the  development  of  the  race  to  a  higher 
level. 

62 


MYSELF 

For  years  I  slaved  at  the  office — early,  late,  in 
the  evenings,  often  working  Sundays  and  holi 
days,  and  forgoing  my  vacation  in  the  sum 
mer. 

Then  came  the  period  of  expansion.  My  accu 
mulations  doubled  and  trebled.  In  one  year  I 
earned  a  fee  in  a  railroad  reorganization  of  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  I  found  myself  on 
Easy  Street.  I  had  arrived — achieved  my  success. 
During  all  those  years  I  had  devoted  myself  ex 
clusively  to  the  making  of  -money.  Now  I  simply 
had  to  spend  it  and  go  through  the  motions  of  con 
tinuing  to  work  at  my  profession. 

My  wife  and  I  became  socially  ambitious.  She 
gave  herself  to  this  end  eventually  with  the  same 
assiduity  I  had  displayed  at  the  law.  It  is  sur 
prising  at  the  present  time  to  recall  that  it  was  not 
always  easy  to  explain  the  ultimate  purpose  in 
view.  Alas!  What  is  it  now4?  Is  it  other  than 
that  expressed  by  my  wife  on  the  occasion  when 
our  youngest  daughter  rebelled  at  having  to  go  to 
a  children's  party? 

"Why  must  I  go  to  parties?"  she  insisted. 

63 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"In  order,"  replied  her  mother,  "that  you  may 
be  invited  to  other  parties." 

It  was  the  unconscious  epitome  of  my  consort's 
theory  of  the  whole  duty  of  man. 


CHAPTER  II 

MY    FRIENDS 

BY  virtue  of  my  being  a  successful  man  my 
family  has  an  established  position  in  New 
York  society.  We  are  not,  to  be  sure — at  least, 
my  wife  and  I  are  not — a  part  of  the  sacrosanct 
fifty  or  sixty  who  run  the  show  and  perform  in  the 
big  ring;  but  we  are  well  up  in  the  front  of  the 
procession  and  occasionally  do  a  turn  or  so  in  one 
of  the  side  rings.  We  give  a  couple  of  dinners 
each  week  during  the  season  and  a  ball  or  two,  be 
sides  a  continuous  succession  of  opera  and  theater 
parties. 

Our  less  desirable  acquaintances,  and  those  to 
ward  whom  we  have  minor  social  obligations,  my 
wife  disposes  of  by  means  of  an  elaborate  "at 
home,"  where  the  inadequacies  of  the  orchestra  are 
drowned  in  the  roar  of  conversation,  and  which  a 
sufficient  number  of  well-known  people  are  good- 
natured  enough  to  attend  in  order  to  make  the 

65 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

others  feel  that  the  occasion  is  really  smart  and 
that  they  are  not  being  trifled  with.  This  method 
of  getting  rid  of  one's  shabby  friends  and  their 
claims  is,  I  am  informed,  known  as  "killing  them 
off  with  a  tea." 

We  have  a  slaughter  of  this  kind  about  once  in 
two  years.  In  return  for  these  courtesies  we  are 
invited  yearly  by  the  elite  to  some  two  hundred 
dinners,  about  fifty  balls  and  dances,  and  a  large 
number  of  miscellaneous  entertainments  such  as 
musicales,  private  theatricals,  costume  affairs, 
bridge,  poker,  and  gambling  parties;  as  well 
as  in  the  summer  to  clambakes — where  champagne 
and  terrapin  are  served  by  footmen — and  other 
elegant  rusticities. 

Besides  these  chic  functions  we  are,  of  course, 
deluged  with  invitations  to  informal  meals  with 
old  and  new  friends,  studio  parties,  afternoon 
teas,  highbrow  receptions  and  conversaziones, 
reformers'  lunch  parties,  and  similar  festivities. 
We  have  cut  out  all  these  long  ago.  Keeping  up 
with  our  smart  acquaintances  takes  all  our  energy 
and  available  time.  There  are  several  old  friends 

66 


MY  FRIENDS 

of  mine  on  the  next  block  to  ours  whom  I  have 
not  met  socially  for  nearly  ten  years. 

We  have  definitely  arrived  however.  There 
is  no  question  about  that.  We  are  in  society  and 
entitled  to  all  the  privileges  pertaining  thereto. 
What  are  they1?  you  ask.  Why,  the  privilege 
of  going  to  all  these  balls,  concerts  and  dinners, 
of  course;  of  calling  the  men  and  women  one 
reads  about  in  the  paper  by  their  first  names;  of 
having  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  everybody 
who  knows  anything  knows  we  are  in  society ;  and 
of  giving  our  daughters  and  son  the  chance  to 
enjoy,  without  any  effort  on  their  part,  these  same 
privileges  that  their  parents  have  spent  a  life  of 
effort  to  secure. 

Incidentally,  I  may  add,  our  offspring  will, 
each  of  them — if  I  am  not  very  much  mistaken — 
marry  money,  since  I  have  observed  a  certain 
frankness  on  their  part  in  this  regard,  which  seems 
to  point  that  way  and  which,  if  not  admirable  in 
itself,  at  least  does  credit  to  their  honesty. 

Now  it  is  undubitably  the  truth  that  my 
wife  regards  our  place  among  the  socially  elect  as 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  crowning  achievement— the  great  desideratum 
— of  our  joint  career.  It  is  what  we  have  always 
been  striving  for.  Without  it  we — both  of  us— 
would  have  unquestionably  acknowledged  failure. 
My  future,  my  reputation,  my  place  at  the  bar 
and  my  domestic  life  would  have  meant  nothing 
at  all  to  us,  had  not  the  grand  cordon  of  suc 
cess  been  thrown  across  our  shoulders  by  soci 
ety. 

As  I  have  achieved  my  ambition  in  this  re 
spect  it  is  no  small  part  of  my  self-imposed  task 
to  somewhat  analyze  this,  the  chief  reward  of  my 
devotion  to  my  profession,  my  years  of  industrious 
application,  my  careful  following  of  the  paths 
that  other  successful  Americans  have  blazed  for 
me. 

I  must  confess  at  the  outset  that  it  is  ofttimes 
difficult  to  determine  where  the  pleasure  ends  and 
work  begins.  Even  putting  it  in  this  way,  I  fear 
I  am  guilty  of  a  euphemism;  for,  now  that  I  con 
sider  the  matter  honestly,  I  recall  no  real  pleasure 
or  satisfaction  derived  from  the  various  entertain- 

68 


MY  FRIENDS 

merits  I  have  attended  during  the  last  five  or  ten 
years. 

In  the  first  place  I  am  invariably  tired  when  I 
come  home  at  night — less  perhaps  from  the  actual 
work  I  have  done  at  my  office  than  from  the 
amount  of  tobacco  I  have  consumed  and  the 
nervous  strain  attendant  on  hurrying  from  one 
engagement  to  another  and  keeping  up  the  affec 
tation  of  hearty  good-nature  which  is  part  of  my 
stock  in  trade.  At  any  rate,  even  if  my  body  is 
not  tired,  my  head,  nerves  and  eyes  are  distinctly 
so. 

I  often  feel,  when  my  valet  tells  me  that  the 
motor  is  ordered  at  ten  minutes  to  eight,  that  I 
would  greatly  enjoy  having  him  slip  into  the  dress- 
clothes  he  has  so  carefully  laid  out  on  my  bed  and 
go  out  to  dinner  in  my  place.  He  would  doubt 
less  make  himself  quite  as  agreeable  as  I.  And 
then — let  me  see — what  would  I  do?  I  sit  with 
one  of  my  accordion-plaited  silk  socks  half  on  and 
surrender  myself  to  all  the  delights  of  the  most 
reckless  imagination! 

,Yes,  what  would  I  choose  if  I  could  do  any- 

69 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

thing  in  the  world  for  the  next  three  hours'? 
First,  I  think,  I  would  like  an  egg — a  poached  egg, 
done  just  right,  like  a  little  snowball,  balanced 
nicely  in  the  exact  center  of  a  hot  piece  of  toast! 
My  mouth  waters.  Aunt  Jane  used  to  do  them 
like  that.  And  then  I  would  like  a  crisp  piece  of 
gingerbread  and  a  glass  of  milk.  Dress*?  Not 
on  your  life!  Where  is  that  old  smoking-jacket 
of  mine1?  Not  the  one  with  Japanese  embroidery 
on  it — no;  the  old  one.  Given  away?  I  groan 
aloud. 

Well,  the  silk  one  will  have  to  do — and  a  pair 
of  comfortable  slippers !  Where  is  that  old  brier 
pipe  I  keep  to  go  a-fishing?  Now  I  want  a  book 
—full  of  the  sea  and  ships — of  pirates  and  coral 
reefs — yes,  Treasure  Island ;  of  course  that 's  it — 
and  Long  John  Silver  and  the  Black  Spot. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  madam  has  sent  me  up 
to  say  the  motor  is  waiting,"  admonishes  my  Eng 
lish  footman  respectfully. 

Gone — gone  is  my  poached  egg,  my  pipe,  my 
dream  of  the  Southern  Seas!  I  dash  into  my 
evening  clothes  under  the  solicitous  guidance  of 

70 


MY  FRIENDS 

my  valet  and  hastily  descend  in  the  electric  ele 
vator  to  the  front  hall.  My  wife  has  already 
taken  her  seat  in  the  motor,  with  an  air  of  right 
eous  annoyance,  of  courteously  suppressed  irrita 
tion.  The  butler  is  standing  on  the  doorstep. 
The  valet  is  holding  up  my  fur  coat  expectantly. 
I  am  sensible  of  an  atmosphere  of  sad  reproach- 
fulness. 

Oh,  well !  I  thrust  my  arms  into  my  coat, 
grasp  my  white  gloves  and  cane,  receive  my  hat 
and  wearily  start  forth  on  my  evening's  task  of 
being  entertained;  conscious  as  I  climb  into  the 
motor  that  this  curious  form  of  so-called  amuse 
ment  has  certain  rather  obvious  limitations. 

For  what  is  its  raison  d'etre?  It  is  obvious  that 
if  I  know  any  persons  whose  society  and  conver 
sation  are  likely  to  give  me  pleasure  I  can  invite 
them  to  my  own  home  and  be  sure  of  an  evening's 
quiet  enjoyment.  But,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  my 
wife  does  not  invite  to  our  house  the  people  who 
are  likely  to  give  either  her  or  myself  any  pleas 
ure  at  all,  and  neither  am  I  likely  to  meet  such 
people  at  the  homes  of  my  friends. 

71 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

The  whole  thing  is  a  mystery  governed  by 
strange  laws  and  curious  considerations  of  which 
I  am  kept  in  utter  ignorance;  in  fact,  I  rarely 
know  where  I  am  going  to  dine  until  I  arrive  at 
the  house.  On  several  occasions  I  have  come  away 
without  having  any  very  clear  idea  as  to  where 
I  have  been. 

"The  Hobby-Smiths,"  my  wife  will  whisper 
as  we  go  up  the  steps.  "Of  course  you  've  heard 
of  her!  She  is  a  great  friend  of  Marie  Van 
Duser,  and  her  husband  is  something  in  Wall 
Street." 

That  is  a  comparatively  illuminating  descrip 
tion.  At  all  events  it  insures  some  remote  social 
connection  with  ourselves,  if  only  through  Miss 
Van  Duser  and  Wall  Street.  Most  of  our  hosts 
are  something  in  Wall  Street.  Occasionally  they 
are  something  in  coal,  iron,  oil  or  politics. 

I  find  a  small  envelope  bearing  my  name  on  a 
silver  tray  by  the  hatstand  and  open  it  suspiciously 
as  my  wife  is  divested  of  her  wraps.  Inside  is  a 
card  bearing  in  an  almost  illegible  scrawl  the 
words:  Mrs.  Jones.  I  hastily  refresh  my  recol- 

72 


MY  FRIENDS 

lection  as  to  all  the  Joneses  of  my  acquaintance, 
whether  in  coal,  oil  or  otherwise;  but  no  likely 
candidate  for  the  distinction  of  being  the  hus 
band  of  my  future  dinner  companion  comes  to 
my  mind.  Yet  there  is  undoubtedly  a  Jones. 
But,  no !  The  lady  may  be  a  divorcee  or  a  widow. 
I  recall  no  Mrs.  Jones,  but  I  visualize  various 
possible  Miss  Joneses — ladies  very  fat  and  burst 
ing;  ladies  scrawny,  lean  and  sardonic;  facetious 
ladies;  heavy,  intelligent  ladies;  aggressive,  mili 
tant  ladies. 

My  spouse  has  turned  away  from  the  mirror 
and  the  butler  has  pulled  back  the  portieres  lead 
ing  into  the  drawing  room.  I  follow  my  wife's 
composed  figure  as  she  sweeps  toward  our  much- 
beplumed  hostess  and  find  myself  in  a  roomful 
of  heterogeneous  people,  most  of  whom  I  have 
never  seen  before  and.  whose  personal  appearance 
is  anything  but  encouraging. 

"This  is  very  nice!"  says  our  hostess — accent 
on  the  nice. 

"So  nice  of  you  to  think  of  us!"  answers  my 
wife. 

73 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

We  shake  hands  and  smile  vaguely.  The  but 
ler  rattles  the  portieres  and  two  more  people 
come  in. 

"This  is  very  nice!"  says  the  hostess  again — 
accent  on  the  is. 

It  may  be  here  noted  that  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  evening  each  guest  murmurs  in  a  simpering, 
half-persuasive  yet  consciously  deprecatory  man 
ner — as  if  apologizing  for  the  necessity  of 
so  bald  a  prevarication — "Good-night !  We  have 
had  such  a  good  time!  So  good  of  you  to  ask 
us!"  This  epilogue  never  changes.  Its  phrase 
is  cast  and  set.  The  words  may  vary  slightly, 
but  the  tone,  emphasis  and  substance  are  invi 
olable.  Yet,  disregarding  the  invocation  good 
night  !  the  fact  remains  that  neither  have  you  had 
a  good  time  nor  was  your  host  in  any  way  good  or 
kind  in  asking  you. 

Returning  to  the  moment  at  which  you  have 
made  your  entrance  and  been  received  and  passed 
along,  you  gaze  vaguely  round  you  at  the  other 
guests,  greeting  those  you  know  with  exaggerated 
enthusiasm  and  being  the  conscious  subject  of 

74 


MY  FRIENDS 

whispered  criticism  and  inquiry  on  the  part  of 
the  others.  You  make  your  way  to  the  side  of  a 
lady  whom  you  have  previously  encountered  at  a 
similar  entertainment  and  assert  your  delight  at 
revamping  the  fatuous  acquaintanceship.  Her 
facetiousness  is  elephantine,  but  the  relief  of  con 
versation  is  such  that  you  laugh  loudly  at  her 
witticisms  and  simper  knowingly  at  her  platitudes 

—both  of  which  have  now  been  current  for  several 
months. 

The  edge  of  your  delight  is,  however,  somewhat 
dulled  by  the  discovery  that  she  is  the  lady  whom 
fate  has  ordained  that  you  shall  take  in  to  dinner 

— a  matter  of  which  you  were  sublimely  uncon 
scious  owing  to  the  fact  that  you  had  entirely 
forgotten  her  name.  As  the  couples  pair  off  to 
march  to  the  dining  room  and  the  combinations  of 
which  you  may  form  a  possible  part  are  reduced 
to  a  scattering  two  or  three,  you  realize  with  a 
shudder  that  the  lady  beside  you  is  none  other 
than  Mrs.  Jones — and  that  for  the  last  ten  min 
utes  you  have  been  recklessly  using  up  the  even 
ing's  conversational  ammunition. 

75 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

With  a  sinking  heart  you  proffer  your  arm, 
wondering  whether  it  will  be  possible  to  get 
through  the  meal  and  preserve  the  fiction  of  in 
terest.  You  wish  savagely  that  you  could  turn 
on  her  and  exclaim  honestly: 

"Look  here,  my  good  woman,  you  are  all  right 
enough  in  your  own  way,  but  we  have  nothing  in 
common;  and  this  proposed  evening  of  enforced 
companionship  will  leave  us  both  exhausted  and 
ill-tempered.  We  shall  grin  and  shout  meaning 
less  phrases  over  the  fish,  entree  and  salad  about 
life,  death  and  the  eternal  verities;  but  we  shall 
be  sick  to  death  of  each  other  in  ten  minutes. 
Let 's  cut  it  out  and  go  home !" 

You  are  obliged,  however,  to  escort  your  mid 
dle-aged  comrade  downstairs  and  take  your  seat 
beside  her  with  a  flourish,  as  if  you  were  playing 
Rudolph  to  her  Flavia.  Then  for  two  hours, 
with  your  eyes  blinded  by  candlelight  and  elec 
tricity,  you  eat  recklessly  as  you  grimace  first 
over  your  left  shoulder  and  then  over  your  right. 
It  is  a  foregone  conclusion  that  you  will  have  a 
headache  by  the  time  you  have  turned,  with  a  sen- 


MY  FRIENDS 

sation  of  momentary  relief,  to  your  "fair  com 
panion"  on  the  other  side. 

Have  you  enjoyed  yourself?  Have  you  been 
entertained"?  Have  you  profited?  The  ques 
tions  are  utterly  absurd.  You  have  suffered. 
You  have  strained  your  eyes,  overloaded  your 
stomach,  and  wasted  three  hours  during  which 
you  might  have  been  recuperating  from  your  day's 
work  or  really  amusing  yourself  with  people  you 
like. 

This  entirely  conventional  form  of  amusement 
is,  I  am  told,  quite  unknown  in  Europe.  There 
are,  to  be  sure,  occasional  formal  banquets,  which 
do  not  pretend  to  be  anything  but  formal.  A 
formal  banquet  would  be  an  intense  relief,  after 
the  heat,  noise,  confusion  and  pseudo-informality 
of  a  New  York  dinner.  The  European  is  puzzled 
and  baffled  by  one  of  our  combined  talk-and-eat- 
ing  bouts. 

A  nobleman  from  Florence  recently  said  to 
me: 

"At  home,  when  we  go  to  other  people's  houses 
it  is  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  our  own  friends 

77 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

or  our  friend's  friends.  We  go  after  our  evening 
meal  and  stay  as  long  as  we  choose.  Some  light 
refreshment  is  served,  and  those  who  wish  to  do  so 
smoke  or  play  cards.  The  old  and  the  young 
mingle  together.  It  is  proper  for  each  guest 
to  make  himself  agreeable  to  all  the  others.  We 
do  not  desire  to  spend  money  or  to  make  a 
fete.  At  the  proper  times  we  have  our  balls  and 
jest  as. 

"But  here  in  New  York  each  night  I  have  been 
pressed  to  go  to  a  grand  entertainment  and  eat  a 
huge  dinner  cooked  by  a  French  chef  and  served 
by  several  men  servants,  where  I  am  given  one  lady 
to  talk  to  for  several  hours.  I  must  converse  with 
no  one  else,  even  if  there  is  a  witty,  beautiful  and 
charming  woman  directly  opposite  me;  and  as  I 
talk  and  listen  I  must  consume  some  ten  or  twelve 
courses  or  fail  to  do  justice  to  my  host's  hospi 
tality.  I  am  given  four  or  five  costly  wines, 
caviar,  turtle  soup,  fish,  mousse,  a  roast,  partridge, 
pate  de  fois  gras,  glaces,  fruits,  bonbons,  and 
cigars  costing  two  francs  each.  Not  to  eat  and 
drink  would  be  to  insult  the  friend  who  is  paying 

78 


MY  FRIENDS 

at  least  forty  or  fifty  francs  for  my  dinner.  But 
I  cannot  enjoy  a  meal  eaten  in  such  haste  and  I 
cannot  enjoy  talking  to  one  strange  lady  for  so 
long. 

"Then  the  men  retire  to  a  chamber  from  which 
the  ladies  are  excluded.  I  must  talk  to  some 
man.  Perhaps  I  have  seen  an  attractive  woman 
I  wish  to  meet.  It  is  hopeless.  I  must  talk  to 
her  husband !  At  the  end  of  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  the  men  march  to  the  drawing  room,  and 
again  I  talk  to  some  one  lady  for  half  an  hour  and 
then  must  go  home!  It  may  be  only  half-past 
ten  o'clock,  but  I  have  no  choice.  Away  I  must 
go.  I  say  good-night.  I  have  eaten  a  huge  din 
ner;  I  have  talked  to  one  man  and  three  ladies; 
I  have  drunk  a  great  deal  of  wine  and  my  head 
is  very  tired. 

"Nineteen  other  people  have  had  the  same  ex 
perience,  and  it  has  cost  my  host  from  five  hun 
dred  to  a  thousand  francs — or,  as  you  say  here, 
from  one  hundred  to  two  hundred  dollars.  And 
why  has  he  spent  this  sum  of  money  ^  Pardon 
me,  my  friend,  if  I  say  that  it  could  be  disbursed 

79 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

to  much  better  advantage.  Should  my  host  come 
to  Florence  I  should  not  dare  to  ask  him  to  dinner, 
for  we  cannot  afford  to  have  these  elaborate  func 
tions.  If  he  came  to  my  house  he  would  have  to 
dine  en  famille.  Here  you  feast  every  night  in 
the  winter.  Why?  Every  day  is  not  a  feast 
day!" 

I  devote  space  and  time  to  this  subject  com 
mensurate  with  what  seems  to  me  to  be  its  impor 
tance.  Dining  out  is  the  metropolitan  form  of 
social  entertainment  for  the  well-to-do.  I  go  to 
such  affairs  at  least  one  hundred  nights  each  year. 
That  is  a  large  proportion  of  my  whole  life  and 
at  least  one-half  of  all  the  time  at  my  disposal  for 
recreation.  So  far  as  I  can  see,  it  is  totally  use 
less  and  a  severe  drain  on  one's  nervous  centers. 
It  has  sapped  and  is  sapping  my  vitality.  Dur 
ing  the  winter  I  am  constantly  tired.  My  head 
aches  a  large  part  of  the  time.  I  can  do  only  a 
half — and  on  some  days  only  a  third — as  much 
work  as  I  could  at  thirty-five. 

I  wake  with  a  thin,  fine  line  of  pain  over  my 
right  eye,  and  a  heavy  head.  A  strong  cup  of 

80 


MY  FRIENDS 

coffee  sets  me  up  and  I  feel  better;  but  as  the 
morning  wears  on,  especially  if  I  am  nervous,  the 
weariness  in  my  head  returns.  By  luncheon  time 
I  am  cross  and  upset.  Often  by  six  o'clock  I  have 
a  severe  sick  headache.  When  I  do  not  have  a 
headache  I  am  usually  depressed;  my  brain  feels 
like  a  lump  of  lead.  And  I  know  precisely  the 
cause:  It  is  that  I  do  not  give  my  nerve-centers 
sufficient  rest.  If  I  could  spend  the  evenings — or 
half  of  them — quietly  I  should  be  well  enough; 
but  after  I  am  tired  out  by  a  day's  work  I  come 
home  only  to  array  myself  to  go  out  to  saw  social 
wood. 

I  never  get  rested !  My  head  gets  heavier  and 
heavier  and  finally  gives  way.  There  is  no  imme 
diate  cause.  It  is  the  fact  that  my  nervous  sys 
tem  gets  more  and  more  tired  without  any  adequate 
relief.  The  feeling  of  complete  restedness,  so  far 
as  my  brain  is  concerned,  is  one  I  almost  never  ex 
perience.  When  I  do  wake  up  with  my  head 
clear  and  light  my  heart  sings  for  joy.  My  effec 
tiveness  is  impaired  by  weariness  and  overeating, 
through  a  false  effort  at  recuperation.  I  have 

8l 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

known  this  for  a  long  time,  but  I  have  seen  no 
escape  from  it. 

Social  life  is  one  of  the  objects  of  living  in 
New  York;  and  social  life  to  ninety  per  cent  of 
society  people  means  nothing  but  eating  one  an 
other's  dinners.  Men  never  pay  calls  or  go  to 
teas.  The  dinner,  which  has  come  to  mean  a 
heavy,  elaborate  meal,  eaten  amid  noise,  laughter 
and  chatter,  at  great  expense,  is  the  expression  of 
our  highest  social  aspirations.  Thus  it  would 
seem,  though  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  that 
I  work  seven  or  eight  hours  every  day  in  order  to 
make  myself  rather  miserable  for  the  rest  of  the 
time. 

"I  am  going  to  lie  down  and  rest  this  after 
noon,"  my  wife  will  sometimes  say.  "We  're 
dining  with  the  Robinsons." 

Extraordinary  that  pleasure  should  be  so  ex 
hausting  as  to  require  rest  in  anticipation !  Din 
ing  with  these  particular  and  other  in-general 
Robinsons  has  actually  become  a  physical  feat  of 
endurance — a  tour  de  force,  like  climbing  the 
Matterhorn  or  eating  thirteen  pounds  of  beefsteak 

82 


MY  FRIENDS 

at  a  sitting.  Is  it  a  reminiscence  of  those  dim 
centuries  when  our  ancestors  in  the  forests  of  the 
Elbe  sat  under  the  moss-hung  oaks  and  stuffed 
themselves  with  roast  ox  washed  down  with  huge 
skins  of  wine"?  Or  is  it  a  custom  born  of  those 
later  days  when,  round  the  blazing  logs  of  Cana 
dian  campfires,  our  Indian  allies  gorged  them 
selves  into  insensibility  to  the  sound  of  the  tom 
tom  and  the  chant  of  the  medicine-man — the  lat 
ter  quite  as  indispensable  now  as  then? 

If  I  should  be  called  on  to  explain  for  what 
reason  I  am  accustomed  to  eat  not  wisely  but  too 
well  on  these  joyous  occasions,  I  should  be  some 
what  at  a  loss  for  any  adequate  reply.  Perhaps 
the  simplest  answer  would  be  that  I  have  just  im 
bibed  a  cocktail  and  created  an  artificial  appetite. 
It  is  also  probable  that,  in  my  efforts  to  appear 
happy  and  at  ease,  to  play  my  part  as  a  connoisseur 
of  good  things,  and  to  keep  the  conversational  ball 
in  the  air,  I  unconsciously  lose  track  of  the  num 
ber  of  courses  I  have  consumed. 

It  is  also  a  matter  of  habit.  As  a  boy  I  was 
compelled  to  eat  everything  on  my  plate;  and  as 

83 


THE  "GOLDFISH'' 

I  grew  older  I  discovered  that  in  our  home  town 
it  was  good  manners  to  leave  nothing  undevoured 
and  thus  pay  a  concrete  tribute  to  the  culinary 
ability  of  the  hostess.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  have 
always  liked  to  eat.  It  is  almost  the  only  thing  left 
that  I  enjoy;  but,  even  so,  my  palate  requires  the 
stimulus  of  gin.  I  know  that  I  am  getting  fat. 
My  waistcoats  have  to  be  let  out  a  little  more 
every  five  or  six  months.  Anyhow,  if  the  men 
did  not  do  their  part  there  would  be  little  object 
for  giving  dinner  parties  in  these  days  when  slen 
der  women  are  the  fashion. 

After  the  long  straight  front  and  the  habit  back, 
social  usage  is  frowning  on  the  stomach,  hips  and 
other  heretofore  not  unadmired  evidences  of  robust 
nutrition.  Temperance,  not  to  say  total  absti 
nence,  has  become  de  rigueur  among  the  ladies. 
My  dinner  companion  nibbles  her  celery,  tastes 
the  soup,  waves  away  fish,  entree  and  roast,  pecks 
once  or  twice  at  the  salad,  and  at  last  consumes 
her  ration  of  ice-cream  with  obvious  satisfaction. 
If  there  is  a  duck — well,  she  makes  an  exception 
in  the  case  of  duck — at  six  dollars  and  a  half  a 

84 


MY  FRIENDS 

pair.     A  couple  of  hothouse  grapes  and  she  is 
done. 

It  will  be  observed  that  this  gives  her  all  the 
more  opportunity  for  conversation — a  doubtful 
blessing.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  an  equiva 
lent  economic  waste.  I  have  no  doubt  each  guest 
would  prefer  to  have  set  before  her  a  chop,  a 
baked  potato  and  a  ten-dollar  goldpiece.  It 
would  amount  to  the  same  thing,  so  far  as  the 
host  is  concerned. 

I  had,  until  recently,  assumed  with  some  bitter 
ness  that  my  dancing  days  were  over.  My  wife 
and  I  went  to  balls,  to  be  sure,  but  not  to  dance. 
We  left  that  to  the  younger  generation,  for  the 
reason  that  my  wife  did  not  care  to  jeopardize  her 
attire  or  her  complexion.  She  was  also  conscious 
of  the  fact  that  the  variety  of  waltz  popular  thirty 
years  ago  was  an  oddity,  and  that  a  middle-aged 
woman  who  went  hopping  and  twirling  about  a 
ballroom  must  be  callous  to  the  amusement  that 
followed  her  gyrations. 

With  the  advent  of  the  turkey  trot  and  the 

85 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tango,  things  have  changed  however.  No  one  is 
too  stout,  too  old  or  too  clumsy  to  go  walking 
solemnly  round,  in  or  out  of  time  to  the  music. 
I  confess  to  a  consciousness  of  absurdity  when,  to 
the  exciting  rhythm  of  Tres  Moutard,  I  back  Mrs. 
Jones  slowly  down  the  room  and  up  again. 

"Do  you  grapevine?"  she  inquires  ardently. 
Yes;  I  admit  the  soft  impeachment,  and  at  once 
she  begins  some  astonishing  convolution  with  the 
lower  part  of  her  body,  which  I  attempt  to  fol 
low.  After  several  entanglements  we  move  tri 
umphantly  across  the  hall. 

"How  beautifully  you  dance!"  she  pants. 

Aged  roisterer  that  I  am,  I  fall  for  the  compli 
ment.  She  is  a  nice  old  thing,  after  all ! 

"Fish  walk?"  asks  she. 

I  retort  with  total  abandon. 

"Come  along!" 

So,  grabbing  her  tightly  and  keeping  my  legs 
entirely  stiff — as  per  instructions  from  my  son — 
I  stalk  swiftly  along  the  floor,  while  she  backs 
with  prodigious  velocity.  Away  we  go,  an  odd 
four  hundred  pounds  of  us,  until,  exhausted,  we 

86 


MY  FRIENDS 

collapse  against  the  table  where  the  champagne 
is  being  distributed. 

Though  I  have  carefully  followed  the  directions 
of  my  preceptor,  I  am  aware  that  the  effect  pro 
duced  by  our  efforts  is  somehow  not  the  same  as 
his.  I  observe  him  in  a  close  embrace  with  a 
willowy  young  thing,  dipping  gracefully  in  the 
distance.  They  pause,  sway,  run  a  few  steps, 
stop  dead  and  suddenly  sink  to  the  floor — only  to 
rise  and  repeat  the  performance. 

So  the  evening  wears  gaily  on.  I  caper  round 
—now  sedately,  now  deliriously — knowing  that, 
however  big  a  fool  I  am  making  of  myself,  we  are 
all  in  the  same  boat.  My  wife  is  doing  it,  too,  to 
the  obvious  annoyance  of  our  daughters.  But  this 
is  the  smartest  ball  of  the  season.  When  all  the 
world  is  dancing  it  would  be  conspicuous  to  loi 
ter  in  the  doorway.  Society  has  ruled  that 
I  must  dance — if  what  I  am  doing  can  be  so 
called. 

I  am  aware  that  I  should  not  care  to  allow  my 
clients  to  catch  an  unexpected  glimpse  of  my 
antics  with  Mrs.  Jones;  yet  to  be  permitted  to 

87 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

dance  with  her  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  our  suc 
cess.  I  might  dance  elsewhere  but  it  would  not 
be  the  same  thing.  Is  not  my  hostess'  hoarse, 
good-natured,  rather  vulgar  voice  the  clarion  of 
society4?  Did  not  my  wife  scheme  and  plot  for 
years  before  she  managed  to  get  our  names  on  the 
sacred  list  of  invitations'? 

To  be  sure,  I  used  to  go  to  dances  enough  as  a 
lad;  and  good  times  I  had  too.  The  High  School 
Auditorium  had  a  splendid  floor;  and  the  girls, 
even  though  they  were  unacquainted  with  all  these 
newfangled  steps,  could  waltz  and  polka,  and  do 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  Good  old  days!  I  re 
member  my  wife — I  met  her  in  that  old  hall.  She 
wore  a  white  muslin  dress  trimmed  with  artificial 
roses.  I  wonder  if  I  properly  appreciate  the  dis 
tinction  of  being  asked  to  Mrs.  Jones'  turkey- 
trotting  parties !  My  butler  and  the  kitchen-maid 
are  probably  doing  the  same  thing  in  the  basement 
at  home  to  the  notes  of  the  usefulman's  accordion 
— and  having  a  better  time  than  I  am. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  my  son  or  my  daugh 
ters  glide  through  the  intricacies  of  these  modern 

88 


MY  FRIENDS 

dances,  which  the  natural  elasticity  and  supple 
ness  of  youth  render  charming  in  spite  of  their 
grotesqueness.  But  why  should  I  seek  to  copy 
them*?  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  am  still  rather 
athletic  I  cannot  do  so.  With  my  utmost  en 
deavor  I  fail  to  imitate  their  grace.  I  am  getting 
old.  My  muscles  are  stiff  and  out  of  training. 
My  wind  has  suffered.  Mrs.  Jones  probably 
never  had  any. 

And  if  I  am  ridiculous,  what  of  her  and  the  other 
women  of  her  age  who,  for  some  unknown  reason, 
fatuously  suppose  they  can  renew  their  lost  youth? 
Occasionally  luck  gives  me  a  debutante  for  a  part 
ner  when  I  go  out  to  dinner.  I  do  my  best  to 
entertain  her — trot  out  all  my  old  jokes  and 
stories,  pay  her  delicate  compliments,  and  do 
frank  homage  to  her  youth  and  beauty.  But  her 
attention  wanders.  My  tongue  is  stiff,  like  my 
legs.  It  can  wag  through  the  old  motions,  but 
it  has  lost  its  spontaneity.  One  glance  from  the 
eye  of  the  boy  down  the  long  table  and  she  is 
oblivious  of  my  existence.  Should  I  try  to  dance 
with  her  I  should  quickly  find  that  crabbed  middle- 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

age  and  youth  cannot  step  in  time.     My  place  is 
with  Mrs.  Jones — or,  better,  at  home  and  in  bed. 

Apart,  however,  from  the  dubious  delight  of 
dancing,  all  is  not  gold  that  glitters  socially.  The 
first  time  my  wife  and  I  were  invited  to  a  week 
end  party  at  the  country-house  of  a  widely  known 
New  York  hostess  we  were  both  much  excited. 
At  last  we  were  to  be  received  on  a  footing  of  real 
intimacy  by  one  of  the  inner  circle.  Even  my 
valet,  an  imperturbable  Englishman  who  would 
have  announced  that  the  house  was  on  fire  in  the 
same  tone  as  that  my  breakfast  was  ready,  showed 
clearly  that  he  was  fully  aware  of  the  significance 
of  the  coming  event.  For  several  days  he  ex 
hibited  signs  of  intense  nervous  anxiety,  and  when 
at  last  the  time  of  my  departure  arrived  I  found 
that  he  had  filled  two  steamer  trunks  with  the 
things  he  regarded  as  indispensable  for  my  com 
fort  and  well-being. 

My  wife's  maid  had  been  equally  assiduous. 
Both  she  and  the  valet  had  no  intention  of  learn 
ing  on  our  return  that  any  feature  of  our  respec- 

90 


MY  FRIENDS 

tive  wardrobes  had  been  forgotten;  since  we  had 
decided  not  to  take  either  of  our  personal  servants, 
for  the  reason  that  we  thought  to  do  so  might  pos 
sibly  be  regarded  as  an  ostentation. 

I  made  an  early  getaway  from  my  office  on 
Friday  afternoon,  met  my  wife  at  the  ferry,  and 
in  due  course,  but  by  no  means  with  comfort, 
managed  to  board  the  train  and  secure  our  seats 
in  the  parlor  car  before  it  started.  We  reached 
our  destination  at  about  half-past  four  and  were 
met  by  a  footman  in  livery,  who  piloted  us  to  a 
limousine  driven  by  a  French  chauffeur.  We 
were  the  only  arrivals. 

In  my  confusion  I  forgot  to  do  anything  about 
our  trunks,  which  contained  our  evening  apparel. 
During  the  run  to  the  house  we  were  both  on  the 
verge  of  hysteria  owing  to  the  speed  at  which  we 
were  driven — seventy  miles  an  hour  at  the  least. 
And  at  one  corner  we  were  thrown  forward,  clear 
of  the  seats  and  against  the  partition,  by  an  unex 
pected  stop.  An  interchange  of  French  profanity 
tinted  the  atmosphere  for  a  few  moments  and  then 
we  resumed  the  trajectory  of  our  flight. 

Ql 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

We  had  expected  to  be  welcomed  by  our  host 
ess;  but  instead  we  were  informed  by  the  butler 
that  she  and  the  other  guests  had  driven  over  to 
watch  a  polo  game  and  would  probably  not  be 
back  before  six.  As  we  had  nothing  to  do  we 
strolled  round  the  grounds  and  looked  at  the 
shrubbery  for  a  couple  of  hours,  at  the  end  of 
which  period  we  had  tea  alone  in  the  library. 
We  had,  of  course,  no  sooner  finished  than  the 
belated  party  entered,  the  hostess  full  of  vocifer 
ous  apologies. 

I  remember  this  occasion  vividly  because  it  was 
my  first  introduction  to  that  artificially  enforced 
merriment  which  is  the  inevitable  concomitant  of 
smart  gatherings  in  America.  The  men  invari 
ably  addressed  each  other  as  Old  Man  and  the 
women  as  My  Dear.  No  one  was  mentioned  ex 
cept  by  his  or  her  first  name  or  by  some  intimate 
diminutive  or  abbreviation.  It  seemed  to  be 
assumed  that  the  guests  were  only  interested  in 
personal  gossip  relating  to  the  marital  infelicities 
of  the  neighboring  countryside,  who  lost  most  at 
cards,  and  the  theater.  Every  remark  relating  to 

92 


MY  FRIENDS 

these  absorbing  subjects  was  given  a  feebly  hu 
morous  twist  and  greeted  with  a  burst  of  hilarity. 
Even  the  mere  suggestion  of  going  upstairs  to 
dress  for  dinner  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  an  ex 
plosion  of  merriment.  If  noise  was  an  evidence 
of  having  a  good  time  these  people  were  having 
the  time  of  their  lives.  Personally  I  felt  a  little 
out  of  my  element.  I  had  still  a  lingering  dis 
inclination  to  pretend  to  a  ubiquity  of  social  ac 
quaintance  that  I  did  not  really  possess,  and  I  had 
never  learned  to  laugh  in  a  properly  boisterous 
manner.  But  my  wife  appeared  highly  gratified. 
Delay  in  sending  to  the  depot  for  our  trunks — 
the  fault  of  the  butler,  to  whom  we  turned  over 
our  keys — prevented,  as  we  supposed,  our  getting 
ready  in  time  for  dinner.  Everybody  else  had 
gone  up  to  dress;  so  we  also  went  to  our  rooms, 
which  consisted  of  two  huge  apartments  connected 
by  a  bathroom  of  similar  acreage.  The  furniture 
was  dainty  and  chintz-covered.  There  was  an 
abundance  of  writing  paper,  envelopes,  magazines 
and  French  novels.  Superficially  the  arrange 
ments  were  wholly  charming. 

93 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

The  baggage  arrived  at  about  ten  minutes  to 
eight,  after  we  had  sat  helplessly  waiting  for 
nearly  an  hour.  The  rooms  were  plentifully  sup 
plied  with  buttons  marked:  Maid;  Valet;  Butler's 
Pantry — and  so  on.  But,  though  we  pressed  these 
anxiously,  there  was  no  response.  I  concluded 
that  the  valet  was  hunting  or  sleeping  or  other 
wise  occupied.  I  unpacked  my  trunks  with 
out  assistance;  my  wife  unpacked  hers.  But 
before  I  could  find  and  assemble  my  evening 
garments  I  had  to  unwrap  the  contents  of  every 
tray  and  fill  the  room  knee-high  with  tissue- 
paper. 

Unable  to  secure  any  response  to  her  repeated 
calls  for  the  maid,  my  wife  was  nearly  reduced  to 
tears.  However,  in  those  days  I  was  not  unskil 
ful  in  hooking  up  a  dress,  and  we  managed  to  get 
downstairs,  with  ready  apologies  on  our  lips,  by 
twenty  minutes  of  nine.  We  were  the  first  ones 
down  however. 

The  party  assembled  in  a  happy-go-lucky  man 
ner  and,  after  the  cocktails  had  been  served,  gath 
ered  round  the  festive  board  at  five  minutes  past 

94 


MY  FRIENDS 

nine.  The  dinner  was  the  regulation  heavy,  ex 
pensive  New  York  meal,  eaten  to  the  accompani 
ment  of  the  same  noisy  mirth  I  have  already 
described.  Afterward  the  host  conducted  the  men 
to  his  "den,"  a  luxurious  paneled  library  filled 
with  rare  prints,  and  we  listened  for  an  hour  to  the 
jokes  and  anecdotes  of  a  semiprofessional  jester 
who  took  it  on  himself  to  act  as  the  life  of  the 
party.  It  was  after  "eleven  o'  clock  when  we  re 
joined  the  ladies,  but  the  evening  apparently  had 
only  just  begun;  the  serious  business  of  the  day — 
bridge — was  at  hand.  But  in  those  days  my  wife 
and  I  did  not  play  bridge;  and  as  there  was  noth 
ing  else  for  us  to  do  we  retired,  after  a  polite  in 
terval,  to  our  apartments. 

While  getting  ready  for  the  night  we  shouted 
cheerfully  to  one  another  through  the  open  doors 
of  the  bathroom  and,  I  remember,  became  quite 
jolly;  but  when  my  wife  had  gone  to  bed  and  I 
tried  to  close  the  blinds  I  discovered  that  there 
were  none.  Now  neither  of  us  had  acquired  the 
art  of  sleeping  after  daylight  unless  the  daylight 
was  excluded.  With  grave  apprehension  I  ar- 

95 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

ranged  a  series  of  makeshift  screens  and  extin 
guished  the  lights,  wandering  round  the  room  and 
turning  off  the  key  of  each  one  separately,  since 
the  architect  had  apparently  forgotten  to  put  in  a 
central  switch. 

If  there  had  been  no  servants  in  evidence  when 
we  wanted  them  before  dinner,  no  such  complaint 
could  be  entered  now.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
bowling  party  going  on  upstairs.  We  could  also 
hear  plainly  the  rattle  of  dishes  and  a  lively  in 
terchange  of  informalities  from  the  kitchen  end 
of  the  establishment.  We  lay  awake  tensely. 
Shortly  after  one  o'  clock  these  particular  sounds 
died  away,  but  there  was  a  steady  tramp  of  feet 
over  our  heads  until  three.  About  this  hour,  also, 
the  bridge  party  broke  up  and  the  guests  came 
upstairs. 

There  were  no  outside  doors  to  our  rooms. 
Bells  rang,  water  ran,  and  there  was  that  curious 
vibration  which  even  hairbrushing  seems  to  set 
going  in  a  country  house.  Then  with  a  final  bang, 
comparative  silence  descended.  Occasionally  still, 
to  be  sure,  the  floor  squeaked  over  our  heads. 

96 


MY  FRIENDS 

Once  somebody  got  up  and  closed  a  window.  I 
could  hear  two  distant  snorings  in  major  and 
minor  keys.  I  managed  to  snatch  a  few  winks 
and  then  an  alarm-clock  went  off.  At  no  great 
distance  the  scrubbing  maid  was  getting  up.  I 
could  hear  her  every  move. 

The  sun  also  rose  and  threw  fire-pointed  darts 
at  us  through  the  windowshades.  By  five  o'  clock 
I  was  ready  to  scream  with  nerves;  and,  having 
dug  a  lounge  suit  out  of  the  gentlemen's  furnish 
ing  store  in  my  trunk,  I  cautiously  descended  into 
the  lower  regions.  There  was  a  rich  smell  of 
cigarettes  everywhere.  In  the  hall  I  stumbled 
over  the  sleeping  feet  of  the  night-watchman. 
But  the  birds  were  twittering  in  the  bushes;  the 
grassblades  threw  back  a  million  flashes  to  the 
sun. 

Not  before  a  quarter  to  ten  could  I  secure  a 
cup  of  coffee,  though  several  footmen,  in  answer 
to  my  insistent  bell,  had  been  running  round  ap 
parently  for  hours  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  get  it 
for  me.  At  eleven  a  couple  of  languid  younger 
men  made  their  appearance  and  conversed  apa- 

97 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

thetically  with  one  another  over  the  papers.  The 
hours  drew  on. 

Lunch  came  at  two  o  'clock,  bursting  like  a 
thunderstorm  out  of  a  sunlit  sky.  Afterward 
the  guests  sat  round  and  talked.  People  were 
coming  to  tea  at  five,  and  there  was  hardly 
any  use  in  doing  anything  before  that  time. 
A  few  took  naps.  A  young  lady  and  gentleman 
played  an  impersonal  game  of  tennis;  but  at  five 
an  avalanche  of  social  leaders  poured  out  of  a 
dozen  shrieking  motors  and  stormed  the  castle 
with  salvos  of  strident  laughter.  The  cannonade 
continued,  with  one  brief  truce  in  which  to  dress 
for  dinner,  until  long  after  midnight.  Fox,  et 
pr&terea  nihill 

I  look  back  on  that  house  party  with  vivid  hor 
ror.  Yet  it  was  one  of  the  most  valuable  of  my 
social  experiences.  We  were  guests  invited  for 
the  first  time  to  one  of  the  smartest  houses  on  Long 
Island;  yet  we  were  neglected  by  male  and  female 
servants  alike,  deprived  of  all  possibility  of  sleep, 
and  not  the  slightest  effort  was  made  to  look  after 
our  personal  comfort  and  enjoyment  by  either  our 

98 


MY  FRIENDS 

host  or  hostess.  Incidentally  on  my  departure  I 
distributed  about  forty  dollars  among  various  dig 
nitaries  who  then  made  their  appearance. 

It  is  probable  that  time  has  somewhat  exag 
gerated  my  recollections  of  the  miseries  of  this  our 
first  adventure  into  ultrasmart  society,  but  its 
salient  characteristics  have  since  repeated  them 
selves  in  countless  others.  I  no  longer  accept 
week-end  invitations; — for  me  the  quiet  of  my 
library  or  the  Turkish  bath  at  my  club;  for  they 
are  all  essentially  alike.  Surrounded  by  luxury, 
the  guests  yet  know  no  comfort ! 

After  a  couple  of  days  of  ennui  and  an  equal 
number  of  sleepless  nights,  his  brain  foggy  with 
innumerable  drinks,  his  eyes  dizzy  with  the  pips 
of  playing  cards,  and  his  ears  still  echoing  with 
senseless  hilarity,  the  guest  rises  while  it  is  not 
yet  dawn  and,  fortified  by  a  lukewarm  cup  of  faint 
coffee  boiled  by  the  kitchen  maid  and  a  slice  of 
leatherlike  toast  left  over  from  Sunday's  break 
fast,  presses  ten  dollars  on  the  butler  and  five  on 
the  chauffeur — and  boards  the  train  for  the  city, 
nervous,  disgruntled,  his  digestion  upset  and  his 

99 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

head  totally   out  of  kilter  for  the  day's  work. 

Since  my  first  experience  in  house  parties  I 
have  yielded  weakly  to  my  wife's  importunities  on 
several  hundred  similar  occasions.  Some  of  these 
visits  have  been  fairly  enjoyable.  Sleep  is  some 
times  possible.  Servants  are  not  always  neglect 
ful.  Discretion  in  the  matter  of  food  and  drink 
is  conceivable,  even  if  not  probable,  and  occa 
sionally  one  meets  congenial  persons. 

As  a  rule,  however,  all  the  hypocrisies  of  society 
are  intensified  threefold  when  heterogeneous  peo 
ple  are  thrown  into  the  enforced  contact  of  a  Sun 
day  together  in  the  country;  but  the  artificiality 
and  insincerity  of  smart  society  is  far  less  offensive 
than  the  pretentiousness  of  mere  wealth. 

Not  long  ago  I  attended  a  dinner  given  on  Fifth 
Avenue  the  invitation  to  which  had  been  eagerly 
awaited  by  my  wife.  We  were  asked  to  dine  in 
formally  with  a  middle-aged  couple  who  for  no 
obvious  reason  have  been  accepted  as  fashionable 
desirables.  He  is  the  retired  head  of  a  great  com 
bination  of  capital  usually  described  as  a  trust.  A 

100 


MY  FRIENDS 

canopy  and  a  carpet  covered  the  sidewalk  outside 
the  house.  Two  flunkies  in  cockaded  hats  stood 
beside  the  door,  and  in  the  hall  was  a  line  of  six 
liveried  lackeys.  Three  maids  helped  my  wife  re 
move  her  wraps  and  adjust  her  hair. 

In  the  salon  where  our  hostess  received  us  were 
hung  pictures  representing  an  outlay  of  nearly 
two  million  dollars — part  of  a  collection  the  bal 
ance  of  which  they  keep  in  their  house  in  Paris; 
for  these  people  are  not  content  with  one  mansion 
on  Fifth  Avenue  and  a  country  house  on  Long 
Island,  but  own  a  palace  overlooking  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  and  an  enormous  estate  in  Scotland. 
They  spend  less  than  ten  weeks  in  New  York,  six 
in  the  country,  and  the  rest  of  the  year  abroad. 

The  other  male  guests  had  all  amassed  huge 
fortunes  and  had  given  up  active  work.  They 
had  been,  in  their  time,  in  the  thick  of  the  fray. 
Yet  these  men,  who  had  swayed  the  destinies  of 
the  industrial  world,  stood  about  awkwardly  dis 
cussing  the  most  trivial  of  banalities,  as  if  they 
had  never  had  a  vital  interest  in  anything. 

Then  the  doors  leading  into  the  dining  room 
101 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

were  thrown  open,  disclosing  a  table  covered  with 
rosetrees  in  full  bloom  five  feet  in  height  and  a 
concealed  orchestra  began  to  play.  There  were 
twenty-four  seats  and  a  footman  for  each  two 
chairs,  besides  two  butlers,  who  directed  the  serv 
ice.  The  dinner  consisted  of  hors-d'oeuvre  and 
grapefruit,  turtle  soup>  fish  of  all  sorts,  elaborate 
entrees,  roasts,  breasts  of  plover  served  separately 
with  salad,  and  a  riot  of  ices  and  exotic  fruits. 

Throughout  the  meal  the  host  discoursed  learn 
edly  on  the  relative  excellences  of  various  vintages 
of  champagne  and  the  difficulty  of  procuring 
cigars  suitable  for  a  gentleman  to  smoke.  It  ap 
peared  that  there  was  no  longer  any  wine — except 
a  few  bottles  in  his  own  cellar — which  was  pal 
atable  or  healthful.  Even  coffee  was  not  fit  for 
use  unless  it  had  been  kept  for  six  years!  His 
own  cigars  were  made  to  order  from  a  selected 
crop  of  tobacco  he  had  bought  up  entire.  His 
cigarettes,  which  were  the  size  of  small  sausages, 
were  prepared  from  specially  cured  leaves  of 
plants  grown  on  "sunny  corners  of  the  walls  of 
Smyrna."  His  Rembrandts,  his  Botticellis,  his 

102 


MY  FRIENDS 

Sir  Joshuas,  his  Hoppners,  were  little  things  he 
had  picked  up  here  and  there,  but  which,  he  ad 
mitted,  were  said  to  be  rather  good. 

Soon  all  the  others  were  talking  wine,  tobacco 
and  Botticelli  as  well  as  they  could,  though  most 
of  them  knew  more  about  coal,  cotton  or  creosote 
than  the  subjects  they  were  affecting  to  discuss. 

This,  then,  was  success!  To  flounder  help 
lessly  in  a  mire  of  artificiality  and  deception  to 
Tales  of  Hoffmann ! 

If  I  were  asked  what  was  the  object  of  our  going 
to  such  a  dinner  I  could  only  answer  that  it  was 
in  order  to  be  invited  to  others  of  the  same  kind. 
Is  it  for  this  we  labor  and  worry — that  we  scheme 
and  conspire — that  we  debase  ourselves  and  lose 
our  self-respect4?  Is  there  no  wine  good  enough 
for  my  host"?  Will  God  let  such  arrogance  be 
without  a  blast  of  fire  from  heaven^ 

There  was  a  time  not  so  very  long  ago  when 
this  same  man  was  thankful  enough  for  a  slice  of 
meat  and  a  chunk  of  bread  carried  in  a  tin  pail — 
content  with  the  comfort  of  an  old  brier  pipe 
filled  with  cut  plug  and  smoked  in  a  sunny  corner 

103 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

of  the  factory  yard.     "Sunny  corners  of  the  walls 
of  Smyrna!" 

It  is  a  fine  thing  to  assert  that  here  in  America 
we  have  "out  of  a  democracy  of  opportunity" 
created  "an  aristocracy  of  achievement."  The 
phrase  is  stimulating  and  perhaps  truly  expresses 
the  spirit  of  our  energetic  and  ambitious  country; 
but  an  aristocracy  of  achievement  is  truly  noble 
only  when  the  achievements .  themselves  are  fine. 
What  are  the  achievements  that  win  our  applause, 
for  which  we  bestow  our  decorations  in  America4? 
Do  we  honor  most  the  men  who  truly  serve  their 
generation  and  their  country*?  Or  do  we  fawn, 
rather,  on  those  who  merely  serve  themselves? 

It  is  a  matter  of  pride  with  us — frequently  ex 
pressed  in  disparagement  of  our  European  con 
temporaries — that  we  are  a  nation  of  workers; 
that  to  hold  any  position  in  the  community  every 
man  must  have  a  job  or  otherwise  lose  caste;  that 
we  tolerate  no  loafing.  We  do  not  conceal  our 
contempt  for  the  chap  who  fails  to  go  down  every 
day  to  the  office  or  business.  Often,  of  course, 

104 


MY  FRIENDS 

our  ostentatious  workers  go  down,  but  do  very 
little  work.  We  feel  somehow  that  every  man 
owes  it  to  the  community  to  put  in  from  six  tc 
ten  hours  time  below  the  residential  district. 

Young  men  who  have  inherited  wealth  are  as 
chary  of  losing  one  hour  as  their  clerks.  The  busy 
millionaire  sits  at  his  desk  all  day — his  ear  to  the 
telephone.  We  assume  that  these  men  are  useful 
because  they  are  busy;  but  in  what  does  their  use 
fulness  consist"?  What  are  they  busy  about*? 
They  are  setting  an  example  of  mere  industry, 
perhaps — but  to  what  end?  Simply,  in  seven 
cases  out  of  ten,  in  order  to  get  a  few  dollars  or  a 
few  millions  more  than  they  have  already.  Their 
exertions  have  no  result  except  to  enable  their 
families  to  live  in  even  greater  luxury. 

I  know  at  least  fifty  men,  fathers  of  families, 
whose  homes  might  radiate  kindliness  and  sympa 
thy  and  set  an  example  of  wise,  generous  and 
broad-minded  living,  who,  already  rich  beyond 
their  needs,  rush  downtown  before  their  children 
have  gone  to  school,  pass  hectic,  nerve-racking 
days  in  the  amassing  of  more  money,  and  return 

105 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

after  their  little  ones  have  gone  to  bed,  too  utterly 
exhausted  to  take  the  slightest  interest  in  what 
their  wives  have  been  doing  or  in  the  pleasure  and 
welfare  of  their  friends. 

These  men  doubtless  give  liberally  to  charity, 
but  they  give  impersonally,  not  generously;  they 
are  in  reality  utterly  selfish,  engrossed  in  the  en 
thralling  game  of  becoming  successful  or  more 
successful  men,  sacrificing  their  homes,  their  fam 
ilies  and  their  health — for  what*?  To  get  on;  to 
better  their  position ;  to  push  in  among  those  others 
who,  simply  because  they  have  outstripped  the  rest 
in  the  matter  of  filling  their  own  pockets,  are 
hailed  with  acclamation. 

It  is  pathetic  to  see  intelligent,  capable  men 
bending  their  energies  not  to  leading  wholesome, 
well-rounded,  serviceable  lives  but  to  gaining  : 
slender  foothold  among  those  who  are  far  less 
worthy  of  emulation  than  themselves  and  with 
whom  they  have  nothing  whatsoever  in  common 
except  a  despicable  ambition  to  display  their 
wealth  and  to  demonstrate  that  they  have  "social 
position." 

106 


MY  FRIENDS 

In  what  we  call  the  Old  World  a  man's  social 
position  is  a  matter  of  fixed  classification — that  is 
to  say,  his  presumptive  ability  and  qualifications  to 
amuse  and  be  amused;  to  hunt,  fish  and  shoot;  to 
ride,  dance,  and  make  himself  generally  agree 
able — are  known  from  the  start.  And,  based  on 
the  premise  that  what  is  known  as  society  exists 
simply  for  the  purpose  of  enabling  people  to  have 
a  good  time,  there  is  far  more  reason  to  suppose 
that  one  who  comes  of  a  family  which  has  made 
a  specialty  of  this  pursuit  for  several  hundred  years 
is  better  endowed  by  Nature  for  that  purpose  than 
one  who  has  made  a  million  dollars  out  of  a  patent 
medicine  or  a  lucky  speculation  in  industrial  se 
curities. 

The  great  manufacturer  or  chemist  in  England, 
France,  Italy,  or  Germany,  the  clever  inventor,  the 
astute  banker,  the  successful  merchant,  have  their 
due  rewards ;  but,  except  in  obvious  instances,  they 
are  not  presumed  to  have  acquired  incidentally  to 
their  material  prosperity  the  arts  of  playing 
billiards,  making  love,  shooting  game  on  the  wing, 
entertaining  a  house  party  or  riding  to  hounds. 

107 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

Occasionally  one  of  them  becomes  by  special  favor 
of  the  sovereign  a  baronet;  but,  as  a  rule  his  so- 
called  social  position  is  little  affected  by  his  busi 
ness  success,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  be.  He  may  make  a  fortune  out  of  a  new 
process,  but  he  invites  the  same  people  to  dinner, 
frequents  the  same  club  and  enjoys  himself  in  just 
about  the  same  way  as  he  did  before.  His  newly 
acquired  wealth  is  not  regarded  as  in  itself  likely 
to  make  him  a  more  congenial  dinner-table  com 
panion  or  any  more  delightful  at  nve-o'clock  tea. 

The  aristocracy  of  England  and  the  Continent 
is  not  an  aristocracy  of  achievement  but  of  the  po 
lite  art  of  killing  time  pleasantly.  As  such  it  has 
a  reason  for  existence.  Yet  it  can  at  least  be  said 
for  it  that  its  founders,  however  their  descend 
ants  may  have  deteriorated,  gained  their  original 
titles  and  positions  by  virtue  of  their  services  to 
their  king  and  country. 

However,  with  a  strange  perversity — due  per 
haps  to  our  having  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence  crammed  down  our  throats  as  children — we 
in  America  seem  obsessed  with  an  ambition  to 

108 


create  a  social  aristocracy,  loudly  proclaimed  as 
founded  on  achievement,  which,  in  point  of  fact, 
is  based  on  nothing  but  the  possession  of  money. 
The  achievement  that  most  certainly  lands  one 
among  the  crowned  heads  of  the  American  nobil 
ity  is  admittedly  the  achievement  of  having  ac 
quired  in  some  way  or  other  about  five  million 
dollars;  and  it  is  immaterial  whether  its  possessor 
got  it  by  hard  work,  inheritance,  marriage  or  the 
invention  of  a  porous  plaster. 

In  the  wider  circle  of  New  York  society  are 
to  be  found  a  considerable  number  of  amiable 
persons  who  have  bought  their  position  by 
the  lavish  expenditure  of  money  amassed  through 
the  clever  advertising  and  sale  of  table  relishes, 
throat  emollients,  fireside  novels,  canned  edibles, 
cigarettes,  and  chewing  tobacco.  The  money  was 
no  doubt  legitimately  earned.  The  patent-medi 
cine  man  and  the  millionaire  tailor  have  my  en 
tire  respect.  I  do  not  sneer  at  honest  wealth  ac 
quired  by  these  humble  means.  The  rise — if  it 
be  a  rise — of  these  and  others  like  them  is  super 
ficial  evidence,  perhaps,  that  ours  is  a  democracy. 

109 


THE  "GOLDFISH  ' 

Looking  deeper,  we  see  that  it  is,  in  fact,  proof 
of  our  utter  and  shameless  snobbery. 

Most  of  these  people  are  in  society  not  on  ac 
count  of  their  personal  qualities,  or  even  by  virtue 
of  the  excellence  of  their  cut  plug  or  throat  wash 
which,  in  truth,  may  be  a  real  boon  to  mankind — 
but  because  they  have  that  most  imperative  of  all 
necessities — money.  The  achievement  by  which 
they  have  become  aristocrats  is  not  the  kind  of 
achievement  that  should  have  entitled  them  to 
the  distinction  which  is  theirs.  They  are  re 
ceived  and  entertained  for  no  other  reason  what 
ever  save  that  they  can  receive  and  entertain  in 
return.  Their  bank  accounts  are  at  the  disposal 
of  the  other  aristocrats — and  so  are  their  houses, 
automobiles  and  yachts.  The  brevet  of  nobility 
— by  achievement — is  conferred  on  them,  and  the 
American  people  read  of  their  comings  and  goings, 
their  balls,  dinners  and  other  festivities  with  con 
suming  and  reverent  interest.  Most  dangerously 
significant  of  all  is  the  fact  that,  so  long  as  the 
applicant  for  social  honors  has  the  money,  the 
method  by  which  he  got  it,  however  reprehensible, 

no 


MY  FRIENDS 

is  usually  overlooked.  That  a  man  is  a  thief,  sa 
long  as  he  has  stolen  enough,  does  not  impair  his 
desirability.  The  achievement  of  wealth  is  suf 
ficient  in  itself  to  entitle  him  to  a  seat  in  the 
American  House  of  Lords. 

A  substantial  portion  of  the  entertaining  that 
takes  place  on  Fifth  Avenue  is  paid  for  out 
of  pilfered  money.  Ten  years  ago  this  rhetorical 
remark  would  have  been  sneered  at  as  demagogic. 
To-day  everybody  knows  that  it  is  simply  the 
fact.  Yet  we  continue  to  eat  with  entire  uncon 
cern  the  dinners  that  have,  as  it  were,  been  ab 
stracted  from  the  dinner-pails  of  the  poor.  I  can 
not  conduct  an  investigation  into  the  business  his 
tory  of  every  man  who  asks  me  to  his  house.  And 
even  if  I  know  he  has  been  a  crook,  I  cannot  afford 
to  stir  up  an  unpleasantness  by  attempting  in  my 
humble  way  to  make  him  feel  sorrow  for  his  mis 
deeds.  If  I  did  I  might  find  myself  alone — de 
serted  by  the  rest  of  the  aristocracy  who  are 
concerned  less  with  his  morality  than  with  the 
vintage  of  his  wine  and  the  dot  he  is  going  to  give 
his  daughter. 

ill 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

The  methods  by  which  a  newly  rich  American 
purchases  a  place  among  our  nobility  are  sim 
ple  and  direct.  He  does  not  storm  the  inner  cita 
del  of  society  but  at  the  start  ingratiates  himself 
with  its  lazy  and  easy-going  outposts.  He  rents 
a  house  in  a  fashionable  country  suburb  of  New 
York  and  goes  in  and  out  of  town  on  the  "dude" 
train.  He  soon  learns  what  professional  people 
mingle  in  smart  society  and  these  he  bribes  to  re 
ceive  him  and  his  family.  He  buys  land  and  re 
tains  a  "smart"  lawyer  to  draw  his  deeds  and  at 
tend  to  the  transfer  of  title.  He  engages  a 
fashionable  architect  to  build  his  house,  and  a 
society  young  lady  who  has  gone  into  landscape 
gardening  to  lay  out  his  grounds.  He  cannot 
work  the  game  through  his  dentist  or  plumber,  but 
he  establishes  friendly  relations  with  the  swell 
local  medical  man  and  lets  him  treat  an  imaginary 
illness  or  two.  He  has  his  wife's  portrait  painted 
by  an  artist  who  makes  a  living  off  similar  aspir 
ants,  and  in  exchange  gets  an  invitation  to  drop 
in  to  tea  at  the  studio.  He  buys  broken- 
winded  hunters  from  the  hunting  set,  decrepit 

112 


MY  FRIENDS 

ponies  from  the  polo  players,  and  stone  griffins 
for  the  garden  from  the  social  sculptress. 

A  couple  of  hundred  here,  a  couple  of  thousand 
there,  and  he  and  his  wife  are  dining  out  among 
the  people  who  run  things.  Once  he  gets  a  foot 
hold,  the  rest  is  by  comparison  easy.  The  bribes 
merely  become  bigger  and  more  direct.  He  gives 
a  landing  to  the  yacht  club,  a  silver  mug  for  the 
horse  show,  and  an  altar  rail  to  the  church.  He 
entertains  wisely — gracefully  discarding  the  doc 
tor,  lawyer,  architect  and  artist  as  soon  as  they  are 
no  longer  necessary.  He  has,  of  course,  already 
opened  an  account  with  the  fashionable  broker 
who  lives  near  him,  and  insured  his  life  with  the 
well-known  insurance  man,  his  neighbor.  He 
also  plays  poker  daily  with  them  on  the  train. 

This  is  the  period  during  which  he  be 
comes  a  willing,  almost  eager,  mark  for  the  de 
cayed  sport  who  purveys  bad  champagne  and 
vends  his  own  brand  of  noxious  cigarettes.  He 
achieves  the  Stock  Exchange  Crowd  without  diffi 
culty  and  moves  on  up  into  the  Banking  Set  com 
posed  of  trust  company  presidents,  millionaires 


THE  'GOLDFISH" 

who  have  nothing  but  money,  and  the  elite  of  the 
stockbrokers  and  bond  men  who  handle  their  pri 
vate  business. 

The  family  are  by  this  time  "going  almost 
everywhere";  and  in  a  year  or  two,  if  the  money- 
holds  out,  they  can  buy  themselves  into  the  inner 
circles.  It  is  only  necessary  to  take  a  villa  at 
Newport  and  spend  about  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  the  course  of  the  season.  The  walls 
of  the  city  will  fall  down  flat  if  the  golden 
trumpet  blows  but  mildly.  And  then,  there  they 
are — right  in  the  middle  of  the  champagne,  clam 
bakes  and  everything  else! — invited  to  sit  with 
the  choicest  of  America's  nobility  on  golden 
chairs — supplied  from  New  York  at  one  dollar 
per — and  to  dance  to  the  strains  of  the  most  ex 
pensive  music  amid  the  subdued  popping  of  dis 
tant  corks. 

In  this  social  Arabian  Nights'  dream,  however, 
you  will  find  no  sailors  or  soldiers,  no  great  actors 
or  writers,  no  real  poets  or  artists,  no  genuine 
statesmen.  The  nearest  you  will  get  to  any  of 
these  is  the  millionaire  senator,  or  the  amateur 

114 


MY  FRIENDS 

decorators  and  portrait  painters  who,  by  making 
capital  of  their  acquaintance,  get  a  living  out  of 
society.  You  will  find  few  real  people  among 
this  crowd  of  intellectual  children. 

The  time  has  not  yet  come  in  America  when  a 
leader  of  smart  society  dares  to  invite  to  her 
table  men  and  women  whose  only  merit  is  that 
they  have  done  something  worth  while.  She  is 
not  sufficiently  sure  of  her  own  place.  She  must 
continue  all  her  social  life  to  be  seen  only  with 
the  "right  people."  In  England  her  position 
would  be  secure  and  she  could  summon  whom  she 
would  to  dine  with  her;  but  in  New  York  we  have 
to  be  careful  lest,  by  asking  to  our  houses  some 
distinguished  actor  or  novelist,  people  might  think 
we  did  not  know  we  should  select  our  friends — 
not  for  what  they  are,  but  for  what  they  have. 

In  a  word,  the  viciousness  of  our  social  hierarchy 
lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  based  solely  upon  material 
success.  We  have  no  titles  of  nobility;  but  we 
have  Coal  Barons,  Merchant  Princes  and  Kings 
of  Finance.  The  very  catchwords  of  our  slang  tell 
the  stor.  The  achievement  of  which  we  boast 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

as  the  foundation  of  our  aristocracy  is  indeed  ig 
noble;  but,  since  there  is  no  other,  we  and  our 
sons,  and  their  sons  after  them,  will  doubtless  con- 
tinut  to  struggle — and  perhaps  steal — to  prove, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  ourselves  and  the  world  at 
large,  that  we  are  entitled  to  be  received  into  the 
nobility  of  America  not  by  virtue  of  our  good 
deeds,  but  of  our  so-called  success. 

We  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  We  should 
cry  out  against  any  serious  attempt,  outside  of 
the  pulpit,  to  alter  or  readjust  an  order  that 
enables  us  to  buy  for  money  a  position  of 
which  we  would  be  otherwise  undeserving.  It 
would  be  most  discouraging  to  us  to  have  substi 
tuted  for  the  present  arrangement  a  society  in 
which  the  only  qualifications  for  admittance  were 
those  of  charm,  wit,  culture,  good  breeding  and 
good  sportsmanship. 


CHAPTER  III 


I  PRIDE  myself  on  being  a  man  of  the  world — 
in  the  better  sense  of  the  phrase.  I  feel  no 
regret  over  the  passing  of  those  romantic  days 
when  maidens  swooned  at  the  sight  of  a  drop  of 
blood  or  took  refuge  in  the  "vapors"  at  the  ap 
proach  of  a  strange  young  man ;  in  point  of  fact  I 
do  not  believe  they  ever  did.  I  imagine  that  our 
popular  idea  of  the  fragility  and  sensitiveness  of 
the  weaker  sex,  based  on  the  accounts  of  novelists 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  is  largely  a  literary  con 
vention. 

Heroines  were  endowed,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
with  the  possession  of  all  the  female  virtues,  in 
tensified  to  such  a  degree  that  they  were  covered 
with  burning  blushes  most  of  the  time.  Languor, 
hysteria  and  general  debility  were  regarded  as  the 
outward  indications  of  a  sweet  and  gentle  charac- 

117 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

ter.  Woman  was  a  tendril  clinging  to  the  strong 
oak  of  masculinity.  Modesty  was  her  cardinal 
virtue.  One  is,  of  course,  entitled  to  speculate  on 
the  probable  contemporary  causes  for  the  seeming 
overemphasis  placed  on  this  admirable  character 
istic.  Perhaps  feminine  honesty  was  so  rare  as 
to  be  at  a  premium  and  modesty  was  a  sort  of 
electric  sign  of  virtue. 

I  am  not  squeamish.  I  have  always  let  my 
children  read  what  they  would.  I  have  never 
made  a  mystery  of  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  for 
I  know  the  call  of  the  unseen — the  fascination 
lent  by  concealment,  of  discovery.  I  believe 
frankness  to  be  a  good  thing.  A  mind  that  is 
startled  or  shocked  by  the  exposure  of  an  ankle  or 
the  sight  of  a  stocking  must  be  essentially  impure. 
Nor  do  I  quarrel  with  woman's  natural  desire  to 
adorn  herself  for  the  allurement  of  man.  That  is 
as  inevitable  as  springtime. 

But  unquestionably  the  general  tone  of  social 
intercourse  in  America,  at  least  in  fashionable  cen 
ters,  has  recently  undergone  a  marked  and  strik 
ing  change.  The  athletic  girl  of  the  last  twenty 

118 


MY  CHILDREN 

years,  the  girl  who  invited  tan  and  freckles, 
wielded  the  tennis  bat  in  the  morning  and  lay 
basking  in  a  bathing  suit  on  the  sand  at  noon,  is 
gradually  giving  way  to  an  entirely  different  type 
— a  type  modeled,  it  would  seem,  at  least  so  far 
as  dress  and  outward  characteristics  are  concerned, 
on  the  French  demimondaine.  There  are  plenty 
of  athletic  girls  to  be  found  on  the  golf  links  and 
tennis  courts;  but  a  growing  and  large  minority 
of  maidens  at  the  present  time  are  too  chary  of 
their  complexions  to  brave  the  sun.  Big  hats, 
cloudlike  veils,  high  heels,  paint  and  powder  mark 
the  passing  of  the  vain  hope  that  woman  can  at 
tract  the  male  sex  by  virtue  of  her  eugenic  possi 
bilities  alone. 

It  is  but  another  and  unpleasantly  suggestive 
indication  that  the  simplicity  of  an  older  gener 
ation — the  rugged  virtue  of  a  more  frugal  time — 
has  given  place  to  the  sophistication  of  the  Conti 
nent.  "When  I  was  a  lad,  going  abroad  was  a 
rare  and  costly  privilege.  A  youth  who  had  been 
to  Rome,  London  and  Paris,  and  had  the  unusual 
opportunity  of  studying  the  treasures  of  the  Vati- 

119 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

can,  the  Louvre  and  the  National  Gallery,  was 
regarded  with  envy.  Americans  went  abroad  for 
culture;  to  study  the  glories  of  the  past. 

Now  the  family  that  does  not  invade  Europe  at 
least  every  other  summer  is  looked  on  as  hope 
lessly  old-fashioned.  No  clerk  can  find  a  job  on 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli  or  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  unless 
he  speaks  fluently  the  dialect  of  the  customers 
on  whose  trade  his  employer  chiefly  relies — those 
from  Pennsylvania,  New  York  and  Illinois. 
The  American  no  longer  goes  abroad  for  improve 
ment,  but  to  amuse  himself.  The  college  Fresh 
man  knows,  at  least  by  name,  the  latest  beauty 
who  haunts  the  Folies  Bergeres,  and  his  father 
probably  has  a  refined  and  intimate  familiarity 
with  the  special  attractions  of  Giro's  and  the 
Trocadero. 

I  do  not  deny  that  we  have  learned  valuable 
lessons  from  the  Parisians.  At  any  rate  our  cook 
ing  has  vastly  improved.  Epicurus  would  have 
difficulty  in  choosing  between  the  delights  of  New 
York  and  Paris — for,  after  all,  New  York  is  Paris 
and  Paris  is  New  York.  The  chef  of  yesterday 

120 


MY  CHILDREN 

at  Voisin's  rules  the  kitchen  of  the  Ritz-Carlton 
or  the  Plaza  to-day;  and  he  cannot  have  traveled 
much  who  does  not  find  a  dozen  European  ac 
quaintances  among  the  head  waiters  of  Broadway. 
Not  to  know  Paris  nowadays  is  felt  to  be  as  great 
a  humiliation  as  it  was  fifty  years  ago  not  to  know 
one's  Bible. 

Beyond  the  larger  number  of  Americans  who 
visit  Paris  for  legitimate  or  semi-legitimate  pur 
poses,  there  is  a  substantial  fraction  who  go  to  do 
things  they  either  cannot  or  dare  not  do  at  home. 
And  as  those  who  have  not  the  time  or  the  money 
to  cross  the  Atlantic  and  who  still  itch  for  the 
boulevards  must  be  kept  contented,  Broadway  is 
turned  into  Montmartre.  The  result  is  that  we 
cannot  take  our  daughters  to  the  theater  without 
risking  familiarizing  them  with  vice  in  one  form 
or  another.  I  do  not  think  I  am  overstating  the 
situation  when  I  say  that  it  would  be  reasonably 
inferred  from  most  of  our  so-called  musical  shows 
and  farces  that  the  natural,  customary  and  ex 
cusable  amusement  of  the  modern  man  after  work 
ing  hours — whether  the  father  of  a  family  or  a 

121 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

youth  of  twenty — is  a  promiscuous  adventuring 
into  sexual  immorality. 

I  do  not  regard  as  particularly  dangerous  the 
vulgar  French  farce  where  papa  is  caught  in  some 
extraordinary  and  bufToonlike  situation  with  the 
washerwoman.  Safety  lies  in  exaggeration.  But 
it  is  a  different  matter  with  the  ordinary  Broadway 
show,  where  virtue  is  made — at  least  inferentially 
— the  object  of  ridicule,  and  sexuality  is  the  un 
derlying  purpose  of  the  production.  During  the 
present  New  York  theatrical  season  several  plays 
have  been  already  censored  by  the  authorities,  and 
either  been  taken  off  entirely  or  so  altered  as  to 
be  still  within  the  bounds  of  legal  pruriency. 

Whether  I  am  right  in  attributing  it  to  the  in 
fluence  of  the  French  music  halls  or  not,  it  is  the 
fact  that  the  tone  of  our  theatergoing  public  is 
essentially  low.  Boys  and  girls  who  are  taken  in 
their  Christmas  holidays  to  see  plays  at  which 
their  parents  applaud  questionable  songs  and  sug 
gestive  dances,  cannot  be  blamed  for  assuming 
that  there  is  not  one  set  of  morals  for  the  stage 
and  another  for  ordinary  social  intercourse. 

122 


MY  CHILDREN 

Hence  the  college  boy  who  has  kept  straight  for 
eight  months  in  the  year  is  apt  to  wonder :  What 
is  the  use?  And  the  debutante  who  is  curious 
for  all  the  experiences  her  new  liberty  makes  pos 
sible  takes  it  for  granted  that  an  amorous  trifling 
is  the  ordinary  incident  to  masculine  attention. 

This  is  far  from  being  mere  theory.  It  is  a 
matter  of  common  knowledge  that  recently  the 
most  prominent  restaurateur  in  New  York  found 
it  necessary  to  lock  up,  or  place  a  couple  of  uni 
formed  maids  in,  every  unoccupied  room  in  his 
establishment  whenever  a  private  dance  was  given 
there  for  young  people.  Boys  and  girls  of 
eighteen  would  leave  these  dances  by  dozens  and, 
hiring  taxicabs,  go  on  slumming  expeditions  and 
excursions  to  the  remoter  corners  of  Central  Park. 
In  several  instances  parties  of  two  or  four  went  to 
the  Tenderloin  and  had  supper  served  in  private 
rooms. 

This  is  the  childish  expression  of  a  demoraliza 
tion  that  is  not  confined  simply  to  smart  society, 
but  is  gradually  permeating  the  community  in 
general.  From  the  ordinary  dinner-table  conver- 

123 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

sation  one  hears  at  many  of  the  country  houses 
on  Long  Island  it  would  be  inferred  that  mar 
riage  was  an  institution  of  value  only  for  legit 
imatizing  concubinage;  that  an  old-fashioned  love 
affair  was  something  to  be  rather  ashamed  of;  and 
that  morality  in  the  young  was  hardly  to  be  ex 
pected.  Of  course  a  great  deal  of  this  is  mere 
talk  and  bombast,  but  the  maid-servants  hear  it. 
I  believe,  fortunately — and  my  belief  is  based 
on  a  fairly  wide  range  of  observation — that  the 
continental  influence  I  have  described  has  pro 
duced  its  ultimate  effect  chiefly  among  the  rich; 
yet  its  operation  is  distinctly  observable  through 
out  American  life.  Nowhere  is  this  more  patent 
than  in  much  of  our  current  magazine  literature 
and  light  fiction.  These  stories,  under  the  guise  of 
teaching  some  moral  lesson,  are  frequently  de 
signed  to  stimulate  all  the  emotions  that  could  be 
excited  by  the  most  vicious  French  novel.  Some 
of  them,  of  course,  throw  off  all  pretense  and 
openly  ape  the  petit  Jiistoire  d'un  amour;  but  es 
sentially  all  are  alike.  The  heroine  is  a  demimon- 
daine  in  everything  but  her  alleged  virtue — the 

124 


MY  CHILDREN 

hero  a  young  bounder  whose  better  self  restrains 
him  just  in  time.  A  conventional  marriage  on 
the  last  page  legalizes  what  would  otherwise  have 
been  a  liaison  or  a  degenerate  flirtation. 

The  astonishingly  unsophisticated  and  impos 
sibly  innocent  shopgirl  who — in  the  story — just 
escapes  the  loss  of  her  honor ;  the  noble  young  man 
who  heroically  "marries  the  girl" ;  the  adventures 
of  the  debonaire  actress,  who  turns  out  most  sur 
prisingly  to  be  an  angel  of  sweetness  and  light; 
and  the  Johnny  whose  heart  is  really  pure  gold, 
and  who,  to  the  reader's  utter  bewilderment, 
proves  himself  to  be  a  Saint  George — these  are 
the  leading  characters  in  a  great  deal  of  our  pe 
riodical  literature. 

A  friend  of  mine  who  edits  one  of  the  more  suc 
cessful  magazines  tells  me  there  are  at  least  half 
a  dozen  writers  who  are  paid  guaranteed  salaries 
of  from  twelve  thousand  dollars  to  eighteen  thou 
sand  dollars  a  year  for  turning  out  each  month 
from  five  thousand  to  ten  thousand  words  of  what 
is  euphemistically  termed  "hot  stuff."  An  erotic 
writer  can  earn  yearly  at  the  present  time  more 

125 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

than  the  salary  of  the  president  of  the  United 
States.  What  the  physical  result  of  all  this  is 
going  to  be  does  not  seem  to  me  to  matter  much. 
If  the  words  of  Jesus  Christ  have  any  significance 
we  are  already  debased  by  our  imaginations. 

We  are  dangerously  near  an  epoch  of  intel 
lectual  if  not  carnal  debauchery.  The  prevailing 
tendency  on  the  part  of  the  young  girls  of  to-day 
to  imitate  the  dress  and  makeup  of  the  Parisian 
cocotte  is  unconsciously  due  to  this  general  lower 
ing  of  the  social  moral  tone.  Young  women  in 
good  society  seem  to  feel  that  they  must  enter  into 
open  competition  with  their  less  fortunate  sisters. 
And  in  this  struggle  for  survival  they  are  appar 
ently  determined  to  yield  no  advantage.  Herein 
lies  the  popularity  of  the  hobble  skirt,  the  trans 
parent  fabric  that  hides  nothing  and  follows  the 
move  of  every  muscle,  and  the  otherwise  senseless 
peculiarities  and  indecencies  of  the  more  extreme 
of  the  present  fashions. 

And  here,  too,  is  to  be  found  the  reason  for  the 
popularity  of  the  current  style  of  dancing,  which 

126 


offers  no  real  attraction  except  the  opportunity 
for  a  closeness  of  contact  otherwise  not  permis 
sible. 

"It 's  all  in  the  way  it  is  done,"  says  Mrs.  Jones, 
making  the  customary  defense.  "The  tango  and 
the  turkey  trot  can  be  danced  as  unobjectionably 
as  the  waltz." 

Exactly!  Only  the  waltz  is  not  danced  that 
way;  and  if  it  were  the  offending  couple  would 
probably  be  put  off  the  floor.  Moreover,  their 
origin  and  history  demonstrates  their  essentially 
vicious  character.  Is  there  any  sensible  reason 
why  one's  daughter  should  be  encouraged  to  imi 
tate  the  dances  of  the  Apache  and  the  negro 
debauchee*?  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  pendulum  has 
merely  swung  just  a  little  too  far  and  is  knocking 
against  the  case.  The  feet  of  modern  progress 
cannot  be  hampered  by  too  much  of  the  dead  un 
derbrush  of  convention. 

The  old-fashioned  prudery  that  in  former  days 
practically  prevented  rational  conversation  be 
tween  men  and  women  is  fortunately  a  thing  of 
the  past,  and  the  fact  that  it  is  no  longer  regarded 

127 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

as  unbecoming  for  women  to  take  an  interest  in 
all  the  vital  problems  of  the  day — municipal,  po 
litical  and  hygienic — provided  they  can  assist  in 
their  solution,  marks  several  milestones  on  the 
highroad  of  advance. 

On  the  other  hand  the  widespread  familiarity 
with  these  problems,  which  has  been  engendered 
simply  for  pecuniary  profit  by  magazine  litera 
ture  in  the  form  of  essays,  fiction  and  even  verse, 
is  by  no  means  an  undiluted  blessing — particularly 
if  the  accentuation  of  the  author  is  on  the  roses 
lining  the  path  of  dalliance  quite  as  much  as  on 
the  destruction  to  which  it  leads.  The  very  warn 
ing  against  evil  may  turn  out  to  be  in  effect  only 
a  hint  that  it  is  readily  accessible.  One  does  not 
leave  the  candy  box  open  beside  the  baby  even  if 
the  infant  has  received  the  most  explicit  instruc 
tions  as  to  the  probable  effect  of  too  much  sugar 
upon  its  tiny  kidneys.  Moreover,  the  knowledge 
of  the  prevalence  of  certain  vices  suggests  to  the 
youthful  mind  that  what  is  so  universal  must  also 
be  rather  excusable,  or  at  least  natural. 

It  seems  to  me  that,  while  there  is  at  present  a 
128 


MY  CHILDREN 

greater  popular  knowledge  of  the  high  cost  of 
sinning,  there  is  at  the  same  time  a  greater  tol 
erance  for  sin  itself.  Certainly  this  is  true  among 
the  people  who  make  up  the  circle  of  my 
friends.  "Wild  oats"  are  regarded  as  entirely 
a  matter  of  course.  No  anecdote  Is  too  broad  to 
be  told  openly  at  the  dinner  table ;  in  point  of  fact 
the  stories  that  used  to  be  whispered  only  very 
discreetly  in  the  smoking  room  are  now  told  freely 
as  the  natural  relishes  to  polite  conversation.  In 
that  respect  things  are  pretty  bad. 

One  cannot  help  wondering  what  goes  on  inside 
the  villa  on  Rhode  Island  Avenue  when  the  eight 
een-year-old  daughter  of  the  house  remarks  to  the 
circle  of  young  men  and  women  about  her  at  a 
dance :  "Well,  I  'm  going  to  bed — seule!"  The 
listener  furtively  speculates  about  mama.  He 
feels  quite  sure  about  papa.  Anyhow  this  par 
ticular  mot  attracted  no  comment.  Doubtless  the 
young  lady  was  as  far  above  suspicion  as  the  wife 
of  Csesar;  but  she  and  her  companions  in  this 
particular  set  have  an  appalling  frankness  of 
speech  and  a  callousness  in  regard  to  discussing 

129 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  more  personal  facts  of  human  existence  that 
is  startling  to  a  middle-aged  man  like  myself. 

I  happened  recently  to  overhear  a  bit  of  casual 
dinner-table  conversation  between  two  of  the 
gilded  ornaments  of  the  junior  set.  He  was  a  boy 
of  twenty-five,  well  known  for  his  dissipations, 
but,  nevertheless,  regarded  by  most  mothers  as  a 
highly  desirable  "parti. 

"Oh,  yes!"  he  remarked  easily.  "They  asked 
me  if  I  wanted  to  go  into  a  bughouse,  and  I  said 
I  hadn't  any  particular  objection.  I  was  there 
a  month.  Rum  place!  I  should  worry!" 

"What  ward*?"  she  inquired  with  polite  inter 
est. 

"Inebriates',  of  course,"  said  he. 

I  am  inclined  to  attribute  much  of  the  question 
able  taste  and  conduct  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  fast  set  to  neglect  on  the  part  of  their  mothers. 
Women  who  are  busy  all  day  and  every  evening 
with  social  engagements  have  little  time  to  culti 
vate  the  friendship  of  their  daughters.  Hence 
the  girl  just  coming  out  is  left  to  shift  for  herself, 
and  she  soon  discovers  that  a  certain  risque  free- 
ISO 


MY  CHILDREN 

dom  in  manner  and  conversation,  and  a  disregard 
of  convention,  will  win  her  a  superficial  popularity 
which  she  is  apt  to  mistake  for  success. 

Totally  ignorant  of  what  she  is  doing  or  the  es 
sential  character  of  the  means  she  is  employing, 
she  runs  wild  and  soon  earns  an  unenviable  reputa 
tion,  which  she  either  cannot  live  down  or  which 
she  feels  obliged  to  live  up  to  in  order  to  satisfy  her 
craving  for  attention.  Many  a  girl  has  gone 
wrong  simply  because  she  felt  that  it  was  up  to  her 
to  make  good  her  reputation  for  caring  nothing  for 
the  proprieties. 

As  against  an  increasing  looseness  in  talk  and 
conduct,  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  heavy  drink 
ing  is  clearly  going  out  of  fashion  in  smart  society. 
There  can  be  no  question  as  to  that.  My  cham 
pagne  bills  are  not  more  than  a  third  of  what  they 
were  ten  years  ago.  I  do  not  attribute  this  par 
ticularly  to  the  temperance  movement.  But,  as 
against  eight  quarts  of  champagne  for  a  dinner  of 
twenty — which  used  to  be  about  my  average  when 
we  first  began  entertaining  in  New  York — three 
are  now  frequently  enough.  I  have  watched  the 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

butler  repeatedly  at  large  dinner  parties  as  he 
passed  the  wine  and  seen  him  fill  only  four  or  five 
glasses. 

Women  rarely  drink  at  all.  About  one  man  in 
three  takes  champagne.  Of  course  he  is  apt  to 
drink  whisky  instead,  but  by  no  means  the  same 
amount  as  formerly.  If  it  were  not  for  the  con 
vention  requiring  sherry,  hock,  champagne  and  li 
quors  to  be  served  the  modern  host  could  satisfy 
practically  all  the  serious  liquid  requirements  of 
his  guests  with  a  quart  bottle  of  Scotch  and  a 
siphon  of  soda.  Claret,  Madeira,  sparkling  Mo 
selles  and  Burgundies  went  out  long  ago.  The 
fashion  that  has  taught  women  self-control  in  eat 
ing  has  shown  their  husbands  the  value  of  absti 
nence.  Unfortunately  I  do  not  see  in  this  a  bet 
terment  in  morals,  but  mere  self-interest — which 
may  or  may  not  be  the  same  thing,  according  to 
one's  philosophy.  If  a  man  drinks  nowadays  he 
drinks  because  he  wants  to  and  not  to  be  a  good 
fellow.  A  total  abstainer  finds  himself  perfectly 
at  home  anywhere. 

Of  course  the  fashionables,  if  they  are  going  to 
132 


MY  CHILDREN 

set  the  pace,  have  to  hit  it  up  in  order  to  head  the 
procession.  The  fastness  of  the  smart  set  in  Eng 
land  is  notorious,  and  it  is  the  same  way  in  France, 
Russia,  Italy,  Germany,  Scandinavia — the  world 
over;  and  as  society  tends  to  become  unified  mere 
national  boundaries  have  less  significance.  The 
number  of  Americans  who  rent  houses  in  London 
and  Paris,  and  shooting  boxes  in  Scotland,  is  large. 

Hence  the  moral  tone  of  continental  society  and 
of  the  English  aristocracy  is  gradually  becoming 
more  and  more  our  own.  Rut  with  this  difference 
— that,  as  the  aristocracy  in  England  and  conti 
nental  Europe  is  a  separate  caste,  a  well-defined  or 
der,  having  set  metes  and  bounds,  which  considers 
itself  superior  to  the  rest  of  the  population  and 
views  it  with  indifference,  so  its  morals  are  re 
garded  as  more  or  less  its  own  affair,  and  they  do 
not  have  a  wide  influence  on  the  community  at 
large. 

Even  if  he  drinks  champagne  every  night  at  din 
ner  the  Liverpool  pickle  merchant  knows  he  can 
not  get  into  the  king's  set;  but  here  the  pickle  man 
can  not  only  break  into  the  sacred  circle,  but  he  and 

133 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

his  fat  wife  may  themselves  become  the  king  and 
queen.  So  that  a  knowledge  of  how  smart  society 
conducts  itself  is  an  important  matter  to  every  man 
and  woman  living  in  the  United  States,  since  each 
hopes  eventually  to  make  a  million  dollars  and 
move  to  New  York.  With  us  the  fast  crowd  sets 
the  example  for  society  at  large ;  whereas  in  Eng 
land  looseness  in  morals  is  a  recognized  privilege 
of  the  aristocracy  to  which  the  commoner  may  not 
aspire. 

The  worst  feature  of  our  situation  is  that  the 
quasi-genteel  working  class,  of  whom  our  modern 
complex  life  supports  hundreds  of  thousands — tel 
ephone  operators,  stenographers,  and  the  like — 
greedily  devour  the  newspaper  accounts  of  the 
American  aristocracy  and  model  themselves,  so 
far  as  possible,  after  it.  It  is  almost  unbelievable 
how  intimate  a  knowledge  these  young  women 
possess  of  the  domestic  life,  manner  of  speech  and 
dress  of  the  conspicuous  people  in  New  York 
society. 

I  once  stepped  into  the  Waldorf  with  a  friend 
of  mine  who  wished  to  send  a  telephone  message. 

134 


MY  CHILDREN 

He  is  a  quiet,  unassuming  man  of  fifty,  who  in 
herited  a  large  fortune  and  who  is  compelled, 
rather  against  his  will,  to  do  a  large  amount  of  en 
tertaining  by  virtue  of  the  position  in  society  which 
Fate  has  thrust  on  him.  It  was  a  long-distance 
call. 

"Who  shall  I  say  wants  to  talk1?"  asked  the  god 
dess  with  fillet-bound  yellow  hair  in  a  patroniz 
ingly  indifferent  tone. 

"Mr. ,"  answered  my  companion. 

Instantly  the  girl's  face  was  suffused  with  a 
smile  of  excited  wonder. 

"Are  you  Mr. ,  the  big  swell  ^who  gives  all 

the  dinners  and  dances?"  she  inquired. 

"I  suppose  I'm  the  man,"  he  answered,  rather 
amused  than  otherwise. 

"Gee!"  she  cried,  "ain't  this  luck!  Look 
here,  Mame!"  she  whispered  hoarsely.  "I  've  got 

Mr. here  on  a  long  distance.  What  do  you 

think  of  that !" 

One  cannot  doubt  that  this  telephone  girl  would 
unhesitatingly  regard  as  above  criticism  anything 

said  or  done  by  a  woman  who  moved  in  Mr. 's 

135 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

circle.  Unfortunately  what  this  circle  does  is 
heralded  in  exaggerated  terms.  The  influence  of 
these  partially  true  and  often  totally  false  reports 
is  far-reaching  and  demoralizing. 

The  other  day  the  young  governess  of  a  friend 
of  my  wife  gave  up  her  position,  saying  she  was 
to  be  married.  Her  employer  expressed  an  inter 
est  in  the  matter  and  asked  who  was  going  to  per 
form  the  ceremony.  She  was  surprised  to  learn 
that  the  functionary  was  to  be  the  local  country 
justice  of  the  peace. 

"But  why  are  n't  you  going  to  have  a  clergyman 
marry  you*?"  asked  our  friend. 

"Because  I  don't  want  it  too  binding !"  answered 
the  girl  calmly. 

So  far  has  the  prevalence  of  divorce  cast  its  en 
lightening  beams. 

I  have  had  a  shooting  box  in  Scotland  on  several 
different  occasions;  and  my  wife  has  conducted  suc 
cessful  social  campaigns,  as  I  have  said  before,  in 
London,  Paris,  Rome  and  Berlin.  I  did  not  go 
along,  but  I  read  about  it  all  in  the  papers  and  re- 

136 


MY  CHILDREN 

ceived  weekly  from  the  scene  of  conflict  a  pound  or 
so  of  mail  matter,  consisting  of  hundreds  of  di 
aphanous  sheets  of  paper,  each  covered  with  my 
daughters'  fashionable  humpbacked  handwriting. 
Hastings,  my  stenographer,  became  very  expert 
at  deciphering  and  transcribing  it  on  the  machine 
for  my  delectation. 

I  was  quite  confused  at  the  number  and  variety 
of  the  titles  of  nobility  with  which  my  family 
seemed  constantly  to  be  surrounded.  They  had 
a  wonderful  time,  met  everybody,  and  returned 
home  perfected  cosmopolitans.  What  their 
ethical  standards  are  I  confess  I  do  not  know  ex 
actly,  for  the  reason  that  I  see  so  little  of  them. 
They  lead  totally  independent  lives. 

On  rare  occasions  we  are  invited  to  the  same 
houses  at  the  same  time,  and  on  Christmas  Eve  we 
still  make  it  a  point  always  to  stay  at  home  to 
gether.  Really  I  have  no  idea  how  they  dispose 
of  their  time.  They  are  always  away,  making 
visits  in  other  cities  or  taking  trips.  They  chatter 
fluently  about  literature,  the  theater,  music,  art, 
and  know  a  surprising  number  of  celebrities  in  this 

137 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

and  other  countries — particularly  in  London. 
They  are  good  linguists  and  marvelous  dancers. 
They  are  respectful,  well  mannered,  modest,  and 
mildly  affectionate;  but  somehow  they  do  not  seem 
to  belong  to  me.  They  have  no  troubles  of  which 
I  am  the  confidant. 

If  they  have  any  definite  opinions  or  principles 
I  am  unaware  of  them;  but  they  have  the  most 
exquisite  taste.  Perhaps  with  them  this  takes  the 
place  of  morals.  I  cannot  imagine  my  girls  doing 
or  saying  anything  vulgar,  yet  what  they  are  like 
when  away  from  home  I  have  no  means  of  finding 
out.  I  am  quite  sure  that  when  they  eventually 
select  their  husbands  I  shall  not  be  consulted  in  the 
matter.  My  formal  blessing  will  be  all  that  is 
asked,  and  if  that  blessing  is  not  forthcoming  no 
doubt  they  will  get  along  well  enough  without  it. 

However,  I  am  the  constant  recipient  of  con 
gratulations  on  being  the  parent  of  such  charming 
creatures.  I  have  succeeded — apparently — in  this 
direction  as  in  others.  Succeeded  in  what?  I 
cannot  imagine  these  girls  of  mine  being  any  par 
ticular  solace  to  my  old  age. 

138 


MY  CHILDREN 

Recently,  since  writing  these  confessions  of 
mine,  I  have  often  wondered  why  my  children 
were  not  more  r  to  me.  I  do  not  think  they  are 
much  more  to  my  wife.  I  suppose  it  could  just  as 
well  be  put  the  other  way.  Why  are  we  not  more 
to  them?  It  is  because,  I  fancy,  this  modern 
existence  of  ours,  where  every  function  and  duty 
of  maternity — except  the  actual  giving  of  birth — 
is  performed  vicariously  for  us,  destroys  any  inter 
dependence  between  parents  and  their  offspring. 
"Smart"  American  mothers  no  longer,  I  am  in 
formed,  nurse  their  babies.  I  know  that  my  wife 
did  not  nurse  hers.  And  thereafter  each  child 
had  its  own  particular  French  bonne  and  govern 
ess  besides. 

Our  nursery  was  a  model  of  dainty  comfort. 
All  the  superficial  elegancies  were  provided  for. 
It  was  a  sunny,  dustless  apartment,  with  snow- 
white  muslins,  white  enamel,  and  a  frieze  of  gro 
tesque  Noah's  Ark  animals  perambulating  round 
the  wall.  There  were  huge  dolls'  houses,  with 
electric  lights;  big  closets  of  toys.  From  the  ear 
liest  moment  possible  these  three  infants  began  to 

139 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

have  private  lessons  in  everything,  including 
drawing,  music  and  German.  Their  little  days 
were  as  crowded  with  engagements  then  as 
now.  Every  hour  was  provided  for;  but  among 
these  multifarious  occupations  there  was  no  en 
gagement  with  their  parents. 

Even  if  their  mother  had  not  been  overwhelmed 
with  social  duties  herself  my  babies  would,  I  am 
confident,  have  had  no  time  for  their  parent  except 
at  serious  inconvenience  and  a  tremendous  sacri 
fice  of  time.  To  be  sure,  I  used  occasionally  to 
watch  them  decorously  eating  their  strictly  super 
vised  suppers  in  the  presence  of  the  governess; 
but  the  perfect  arrangements  made  possible  by  my 
financial  success  rendered  parents  a  superfluity. 
They  never  bumped  their  heads,  or  soiled  their 
clothes,  or  dirtied  their  little  faces — so  far  as  I 
knew.  They  never  cried — at  least  I  was  never 
permitted  to  hear  them. 

When  the  time  came  for  them  to  go  to  bed  each 
raised  a  rosy  little  cheek  and  said  sweetly:  "Good 
night,  papa."  They  had,  I  think,  the  usual  chil 
dren's  diseases — exactly  which  ones  I  am  not  sure 

140 


MY  CHILDREN 

of;  but  they  had  them  in  the  hospital  room  at  the 
top  of  the  house,  from  which  I  was  excluded,  and 
the  diseases  progressed  with  medical  propriety  in 
due  course  and  under  the  efficient  management  of 
starchy  trained  nurses. 

Their  outdoor  life  consisted  in  walking  the  as 
phalt  pavements  of  Central  Park,  varied  with  oc 
casional  visits  to  the  roller-skating  rink;  but  their 
social  life  began  at  the  age  of  four  or  five.  I  re 
member  these  functions  vividly,  because  they  were 
so  different  from  those  of  my  own  childhood. 
The  first  of  these  was  when  my  eldest  daughter 
attained  the  age  of  six  years.  Similar  events  in 
my  private  history  had  been  characterized  by  vio 
lent  games  of  blind  man's  buff,  hide  and  seek, 
hunt  the  slipper,  going  to  Jerusalem,  ring- 
round-a-rosy,  and  so  on,  followed  by  a  dish  of 
ice-cream  and  hairpulling. 

Not  so  with  my  offspring.  Ten  little  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  accompanied  by  their  maids,  hav 
ing  been  rearranged  in  the  dressing  room  down 
stairs,  were  received  by  my  daughter  with  due 
form  in  the  drawing  room.  They  were  all 

141 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

flounced,  ruffled  and  beribboned.  Two  little 
boys  of  seven  had  on  Eton  suits.  Their  behavior 
was  impeccable. 

Almost  immediately  a  professor  of  legerdemain 
made  his  appearance  and,  with  the  customary 
facility  of  his  brotherhood,  proceeded  to  remove 
tons  of  debris  from  presumably  empty  hats,  rab 
bits  from  handkerchiefs,  and  hard-boiled  eggs 
from  childish  noses  and  ears.  The  assembled 
group  watched  him  with  polite  tolerance.  At  in 
tervals  there  was  a  squeal  of  surprise,  but  it  soon 
developed  that  most  of  them  had  already  seen  the 
same  trickman  half  a  dozen  times.  However, 
they  kindly  consented  to  be  amused,  and  the 
professor  gave  way  to  a  Punch  and  Judy  show  of 
a  sublimated  variety,  which  the  youthful  audience 
viewed  with  mild  approval. 

The  entertainment  concluded  with  a  stereopti- 
con  exhibition  of  supposedly  humorous  events, 
which  obviously  did  not  strike  the  children  as 
funny  at  all.  Supper  was  laid  in  the  dining 
room,  where  the  table  had  been  arranged  as  if  for 
a  banquet  of  diplomats.  There  were  flowers  in 

142 


MY  CHILDREN 

abundance  and  a  life-size  swan  of  icing  at  each 
end.  Each  child  was  assisted  by  its  own  nurse, 
and  our  butler  and  a  footman  served,  in  stolid 
dignity,  a  meal  consisting  of  rice  pudding,  cereals, 
cocoa,  bread  and  butter,  and  ice-cream. 

It  was  by  all  odds  the  most  decorous  affair  ever 
held  in  our  house.  At  the  end  the  gifts  were  dis 
tributed — Parisian  dolls,  toy  baby-carriages  and 
paint  boxes  for  the  girls;  steam  engines,  magic 
lanterns  and  miniature  circuses  for  the  boys.  My 
bill  for  these  trifles  came  to  one  hundred  and 
twelve  dollars.  At  half-past  six  the  carriages 
arrived  and  our  guests  were  hurried  away. 

I  instance  this  affair  because  it  struck  the  note 
of  elegant  propriety  that  has  always  been  the 
tone  of  our  family  and  social  life.  The  children 
invited  to  the  party  were  the  little  boys  and  girls 
whose  fathers  and  mothers  we  thought  most  likely 
to  advance  their  social  interests  later  on. 

Of  these  children  two  of  the  girls  have  married 
members  of  the  foreign  nobility — one  a  jaded 
English  lord,  the  other  a  worthless  and  dissipated 
French  count;  another  married — fifteen  years  la- 

H3 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

ter— -one  of  these  same  little  boys  and  divorced 
him  within  eighteen  months;  while  two  of  the 
girls — our  own — have  not  married. 

Of  the  boys  one  wedded  an  actress;  another 
lives  in  Paris  and  studies  "art" ;  one  has  been  al 
ready  accounted  for;  and  two  have  given  their 
lives  to  playing  polo,  the  stock  market,  and  ele 
vating  the  chorus. 

Beginning  at  this  early  period,  my  two  daugh 
ters,  and  later  on  my  son,  met  only  the  most  se 
lect  young  people  of  their  own  age  in  New  York 
and  on  Long  Island.  I  remember  being  surprised 
at  the  amount  of  theatergoing  they  did  by  the  time 
the  eldest  was  nine  years  old.  My  wife  made  a 
practice  of  giving  a  children's  theater  party  every 
Saturday  and  taking  her  small  guests  to  the 
matinee.  As  the  theaters  were  more  limited  in 
number  then  than  now  these  comparative  infants 
sooner  or  later  saw  practically  everything  that  was 
on  the  boards — good,  bad  and  indifferent;  and 
they  displayed  a  precocity  of  criticism  that  quite 
astounded  me. 

144 


MY  CHILDREN 

Their  real  social  career  began  with  children's 
dinners  and  dancing  parties  by  the  time  they  were 
twelve,  and  their  later  coming  out  changed  little 
the  mode  of  life  to  which  they  had  been  ac 
customed  for  several  years  before  it.  The  re 
sult  of  their  mother's  watchful  care  and  self- 
sacrifice  is  that  these  two  young  ladies  could 
not  possibly  be  happy,  or  even  comfortable,  if 
they  married  men  unable  to  furnish  them  with 
French  maids,  motors,  constant  amusement,  gay 
society,  travel  and  Paris  clothes. 

Without  these  things  they  would  wither  away 
and  die  like  flowers  deprived  of  the  sun.  They 
are  physically  unfit  to  be  anything  but  the  wives 
of  millionaires — and  they  will  be  the  wives 
of  millionaires  or  assuredly  die  unmarried.  But, 
as  the  circle  of  rich  young  men  of  their  acquaint 
ance  is  more  or  less  limited  their  chances  of  matri 
mony  are  by  no  means  bright,  albeit  that  they  are 
the  pivots  of  a  furious  whirl  of  gaiety  which 
never  stops. 

No  young  man  with  an  income  of  less  than 
twenty  thousand  a  year  would  have  the  temerity 

H5 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

to  propose  to  either  of  them.  Even  on  twenty 
thousand  they  would  have  a  hard  struggle  to  get 
along;  it  would  mean  the  most  rigid  economy — 
and,  if  there  were  babies,  almost  poverty. 

Besides,  when  girls  are  living  in  the  luxury  to 
which  mine  are  accustomed  they  think  twice  be 
fore  essaying  matrimony  at  all.  The  prospects 
of  changing  Newport,  Palm  Beach,  Paris,  Rome, 
Nice  and  Biarritz  for  the  privilege  of  bearing  chil 
dren  in  a  New  York  apartment  house  does  not  al 
lure,  as  in  the  case  of  less  cosmopolitan  young 
ladies.  There  must  be  love — plus  all  present  ad 
vantages!  Present  advantages  withdrawn,  love 
becomes  cautious. 

Even  though  the  rich  girl  herself  is  of  finer  clay 
than  her  parents  and,  in  spite  of  her  artificial  en 
vironment  and  the  false  standards  by  which  she 
is  surrounded,  would  like  to  meet  and  perhaps 
eventually  marry  some  young  man  who  is  more 
worth  while  than  the  "pet  cats"  of  her  acquaint 
ance,  she  is  practically  powerless  to  do  so.  She  is 
cut  off  by  the  impenetrable  artificial  barrier  of  her 
own  exclusiveness.  She  may  hear  of  such  young 

146 


MY  CHILDREN 

men — young  fellows  of  ambition,  of  adventurous 
spirit,  of  genius,  who  have  already  achieved  some 
thing  in  the  world,  but  they  are  outside  the  wall 
of  money  and  she  is  inside  it,  and  there  is  no  way 
for  them  to  get  in  or  for  her  to  get  out.  She  is 
permitted  to  know  only  the  jeunesse  doree — the 
fops,  the  sports,  the  club-window  men,  whose 
antecedents  are  vouched  for  by  the  Social  Regis 
ter. 

She  has  no  way  of  meeting  others.  She  does 
not  know  what  the  others  are  like.  She  is  only 
aware  of  an  instinctive  distaste  for  most  of  the 
young  fellows  among  whom  she  is  thrown.  At 
best  they  are  merely  innocuous  when  they  are  not 
offensive.  They  do  nothing;  they  intend  never 
to  do  anything.  If  she  is  the  American  girl  of 
our  plays  and  novels  she  wants  something  better; 
and  in  the  plays  and  novels  she  always  gets  him 
— the  dashing  young  ranchman,  the  heroic  naval 
lieutenant,  the  fearless  Alaskan  explorer,  the  tire 
less  prospector  or  daring  civil  engineer.  But  in 
real  life  she  does  not  get  him — except  by  the 
merest  fluke  of  fortune.  She  does  not  know  the 

147 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

real  thing  when  she  meets  it,  and  she  is  just  as 
likely  to  marry  a  dissipated  groom  or  chauffeur 
as  the  young  Stanley  of  her  dreams. 

The  saddest  class  in  our  social  life  is  that  of  the 
thoroughbred  American  girl  who  is  a  thousand 
times  too  good  for  her  de-luxe  surroundings  and 
the  crew  of  vacuous  la-de-da  Willies  hanging 
about  her,  yet  who,  absolutely  cut  off  from  con 
tact  with  any  others,  either  gradually  fades  into 
a  peripatetic  old  maid,  wandering  over  Europe, 
or  marries  an  eligible,  turkey-trotting  nonde 
script — "a  nimmini-pimmini,  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
je-ne-sais-quoi  young  man." 

The  Atlantic  seaboard  swarms  in  summertime 
with  broad-shouldered,  well-bred,  highly  edu 
cated  and  charming  boys,  who  have  had  every  ad 
vantage  except  that  of  being  waited  on  by  liveried 
footmen.  They  camp  in  the  woods;  tutor  the 
feeble-minded  sons  of  the  rich;  tramp  and  bicycle 
over  Swiss  mountain  passes;  sail  their  catboats 
through  the  island-studded  reaches  and  thorough 
fares  of  the  Maine  coast,  and  grow  brown  and 
hard  under  the  burning  sun.  They  are  the  hope 

148 


MY  CHILDREN 

of  America.  They  can  carry  a  canoe  or  a  hun 
dred-pound  pack  over  a  forest  trail;  and  in  the 
winter  they  set  the  pace  in  the  scientific,  law  and 
medical  schools.  Their  heads  are  clear,  their  eyes 
are  bright,  and  there  is  a  hollow  instead  of  a  bow 
window  beneath  the  buttons  of  their  waistcoats. 

The  feet  of  these  young  men  carry  them  to 
strange  places;  they  cope  with  many  and  strange 
monsters.  They  are  our  Knights  of  the  Round 
Table.  They  find  the  Grail  of  Achievement  in 
lives  of  hard  work,  simple  pleasures  and  high 
ideals — in  college  and  factory  towns;  in  law 
courts  and  hospitals;  in  the  mountains  of  Colo 
rado  and  the  plains  of  the  Dakotas.  They  are 
the  best  we  have;  but  the  poor  rich  girl  rarely,  if 
ever,  meets  them.  The  barrier  of  wealth  com 
pletely  hems  her  in.  She  must  take  one  of  those 
inside  or  nothing. 

When,  in  a  desperate  revolt  against  the  arti 
ficiality  of  her  existence,  she  breaks  through  the 
wall  she  is  easy  game  for  anybody — as  likely  to 
marry  a  jockey  or  a  professional  forger  as  one  of 
the  young  men  of  her  desire.  One  should  not 

149 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

blame  a  rich  girl  too  much  for  marrying  a  titled 
and  perhaps  attractive  foreigner.  The  would-be 
critic  has  only  to  step  into  a  Fifth  Avenue  ball 
room  and  see  what  she  is  offered  in  his  place  to 
sympathize  with  and  perhaps  applaud  her  selec 
tion.  Better  a  year  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of — 
shall  we  say,  Narragansett*?  After  all,  why  not 
take  the  real  thing,  such  as  it  is,  instead  of  an 
imitation? 

I  believe  that  one  of  the  most  cruel  results  of 
modern  social  life  is  the  cutting  off  of  young  girls 
from  acquaintanceship  with  youths  of  the  sturdy, 
intelligent  and  hardworking  type — and  the  un 
fitting  of  such  girls  for  anything  except  the  mar 
riage  mart  of  the  millionaire. 

I  would  give  half  of  all  I  possess  to  see  my 
daughters  happily  married;  but  I  now  realize  that 
their  education  renders  such  a  marriage  highly 
difficult  of  satisfactory  achievement.  Their 
mother  and  I  have  honestly  tried  to  bring  them  up 
in  such  a  way  that  they  can  do  their  duty  in  that 
state  of  life  to  which  it  hath  pleased  God  to  call 
them.  But  unfortunately,  unless  some  man  hap- 

150 


MY  CHILDREN 

pens  to  call  them  also,  they  will  have  to  keep  on 
going  round  and  round  as  they  are  going  now. 

We  did  not  anticipate  the  possibility  of  their 
becoming  old  maids,  and  they  cannot  become 
brides  of  the  church.  I  should  honestly  be  glad 
to  have  either  of  them  marry  almost  anybody,  pro 
vided  he  is  a  decent  fellow.  I  should  not  even 
object  to  their  marrying  foreigners,  but  the  dif 
ficulty  is  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  find  out 
whether  a  foreigner  is  really  decent  or  not.  It  is 
true  that  the  number  of  foreign  noblemen  who 
marry  American  girls  for  love  is  negligible. 
There  is  undoubtedly  a  small  and  distinguished 
minority  who  do  so;  but  the  transaction  is  usually 
a  matter  of  bargain  and  sale,  and  the  man  regards 
himself  as  having  lived  up  to  his  contract  by 
merely  conferring  his  title  on  the  woman  he  thus 
deigns  to  honor. 

I  should  prefer  to  have  them  marry  Americans, 
of  course;  but  I  no  longer  wish  them  to  marry 
Americans  of  their  own  class.  Yet,  unfortu 
nately,  they  would  be  unwilling  to  marry  out  of  it. 
A  curious  situation!  I  have  given  up  my  life  to 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

buying  a  place  for  my  children  that  is  supposed 
to  give  them  certain  privileges,  and  I  now  am  loath 
to  have  them  take  advantage  of  those  privileges. 

The  situation  has  its  amusing  as  well  as  its 
pathetic  side — for  my  son,  now  that  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  is  one  of  the  eligibles.  He  knows 
everybody  and  is  on  the  road  to  money.  He  is 
one  of  the  opportunities  that  society  is  offering 
to  the  daughters  of  other  successful  men.  Should 
I  wish  my  own  girls  to  marry  a  youth  like  him1? 
Far  from  it!  Yet  he  is  exactly  the  kind  of  fel 
low  that  my  success  has  enabled  them  to  meet  and 
know,  and  whom  Fate  decrees  that  they  shall 
eventually  marry  if  they  marry  at  all. 

When  I  frankly  face  the  question  of  how  much 
happiness  I  get  out  of  my  children  I  am  con 
strained  to  admit  that  it  is  very  little.  The  sense 
of  proprietorship  in  three  such  finished  products 
is  something,  to  be  sure;  and,  after  all,  I  suppose 
they  have — concealed  somewhere — a  real  affection 
for  their  old  dad.  At  times  they  are  facetious — 
almost  playful — as  on  my  birthday;  but  I  fancy 
that  arises  from  a  feeling  of  embarrassment  at 

152 


MY  CHILDREN 

not  knowing  how  to  be  intimate  with  a  parent 
who  crosses  their  path  only  twice  a  week,  and 
then  on  the  stairs. 

My  son  has  attended  to  his  own  career  now  for 
some  fourteen  years;  in  fact  I  lost  him  completely 
before  he  was  out  of  knickerbockers.  Up  to  the 
time  when  he  was  sent  away  to  boarding  school  he 
spent  a  rather  disconsolate  childhood,  playing 
with  mechanical  toys,  roller  skating  in  the  Mall, 
going  occasionally  to  the  theater,  and  taking 
music  lessons;  but  he  showed  so  plainly  the  de 
bilitating  effect  of  life  in  the  city  for  eight  months 
in  the  year  that  at  twelve  he  was  bundled  off  to 
a  country  school.  Since  then  he  has  grown  to 
manhood  without  our  assistance.  He  went  away 
undersized,  pale,  with  a  meager  little  neck  and  a 
sort  of  wistful  Nicholas  Nickleby  expression. 
When  he  returned  at  the  Christmas  vacation  he 
had  gained  ten  pounds,  was  brown  and  freckled, 
and  looked  like  a  small  giraffe  in  pantalets. 

Moreover,  he  had  entirely  lost  the  power  of 
speech,  owing  to  a  fear  of  making  a  fool  of  him- 

153 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

self.  During  the  vacation  in  question  he  was  re- 
outfitted  and  sent  three  times  a  week  to  the  thea 
ter.  On  one  or  two  occasions  I  endeavored  to 
ascertain  how  he  liked  school,  but  all  I  could  get 
out  of  him  was  the  vague  admission  that  it  was 
"all  right"  and  that  he  liked  it  "well  enough." 
This  process  of  outgrowing  his  clothes  and  being 
put  through  a  course  of  theaters  at  each  vacation 
— there  was  nothing  else  to  do  with  him — con 
tinued  for  seven  years,  during  which  time  he  grew 
to  be  six  feet  two  inches  in  height  and  gradually 
filled  out  to  man's  size.  He  managed  to  hold  a 
place  in  the  lower  third  of  his  class,  with  the  aid 
of  constant  and  expensive  tutoring  in  the  summer 
vacations,  and  he  finally  was  graduated  with  the 
rest  and  went  to  Harvard. 

By  this  time  he  preferred  to  enjoy  himself  in 
his  own  way  during  his  leisure  and  we  saw  less  of 
him  than  ever.  But,  whatever  his  intellectual 
achievements  may  be,  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  his 
being  a  man  of  the  world,  entirely  at  ease  any 
where,  with  perfect  manners  and  all  the  social 
graces.  I  do  not  think  he  was  particularly  dis- 

154 


MY  CHILDREN 

sipated  at  Harvard;  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  as 
sured  by  the  dean  that  he  was  no  student.  He 
"made"  a  select  club  early  in  his  course  and  from 
that  time  was  occupied,  I  suspect,  in  playing  poker 
and  bridge,  discussing  deep  philosophical  questions 
and  acquiring  the  art  of  living.  He  never  went 
in  for  athletics;  but  by  doing  nothing  in  a  highly 
artistic  manner,  and  by  dancing  with  the  most 
startling  agility,  he  became  a  prominent  social 
figure  and  a  headliner  in  college  theatricals. 

From  his  sophomore  year  he  has  been  in  con 
stant  demand  for  cotillions,  house  parties  and 
yachting  trips.  His  intimate  pals  seem  to  be  mid 
dle-aged  millionaires  who  are  known  to  me  in  only 
the  most  casual  way;  and  he  is  a  sort  of  gentle- 
man-in-waiting — I  believe  the  accepted  term  is 
"pet  cat" — to  several  society  women,  for  whom  he 
devises  new  cotillion  figures,  arranges  original  af 
ter-dinner  entertainments  and  makes  himself  gen 
erally  useful. 

Like  my  two  daughters  he  has  arrived — abso 
lutely;  but,  though  we  are  members  of  the  same 
learned  profession,  he  is  almost  a  stranger  to  me. 

155 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  him  a  clerkship  in  a 
gilt-edged  law  firm  immediately  after  he  was  ad 
mitted  to  the  bar  and  he  is  apparently  doing  mar- 
velously  well,  though  what  he  can  possibly  know 
of  law  will  always  remain  a  mystery  to  me.  Yet 
he  is  already,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  a  director 
in  three  important  concerns  whose  securities  are 
listed  on  the  stock  exchange,  and  he  spends  a  great 
deal  of  money,  which  he  must  gather  somehow.  I 
know  that  his  allowance  cannot  do  much  more 
than  meet  his  accounts  at  the  smart  clubs  to  which 
he  belongs. 

He  is  a  pleasant  fellow  and  I  enjoy  the  rare 
occasions  when  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  him.  I  do 
not  think  he  has  any  conspicuous  vices — or  vir 
tues.  He  has  simply  had  sense  enough  to  take 
advantage  of  his  social  opportunities  and  bids  fair 
to  be  equally  successful  with  myself.  He  has 
really  never  done  a  stroke  of  work  in  his  life,  but 
has  managed  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  those 
who  could  help  him  along.  I  have  no  doubt  those 
rich  friends  of  his  throw  enough  business  in  his 
way  to  net  him  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  dollars  a 

156 


MY  CHILDREN 

year,  but  I  should  hesitate  to  retain  him  to  defend 
me  if  I  were  arrested  for  speeding. 

Nevertheless  at  dinner  I  have  seen  him  bully 
rag  and  browbeat  a  judge  of  our  Supreme  Court 
in  a  way  that  made  me  shudder,  though  I  admit 
that  the  judge  in  question  owed  his  appointment 
entirely  to  the  friend  of  my  son  who  happened  to 
be  giving  the  dinner;  and  he  will  contradict  in  a 
loud  tone  men  and  women  older  than  myself,  no 
matter  what  happens  to  be  the  subject  under  dis 
cussion.  They  seem  to  like  it — why,  I  do  not  pre 
tend  to  understand.  They  admire  his  assurance 
and  good  nature,  and  are  rather  afraid  of  him ! 

I  cannot  imagine  what  he  would  find  to  do  in 
my  own  law  office;  he  would  doubtless  regard  it 
as  a  dull  place  and  too  narrow  a  sphere  for  his 
splendid  capabilities.  He  is  a  clever  chap,  this 
son  of  mine;  and  though  neither  he  nor  his  sisters 
seem  to  have  any  particular  fondness  for  one  an 
other,  he  is  astute  at  playing  into  their  hands  and 
they  into  his.  He  also  keeps  a  watchful  eye  on 
our  dinner  invitations,  so  they  will  not  fall  below 
the  properly  exclusive  standard. 

157 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"What  are  you  asking  old  Washburn  for?"  he 
will  ask.  "He 's  been  a  dead  one  these  five 
years!"  Or:  "I  'd  cut  out  the  Becketts — at  least 
if  you  're  asking  the  Thompsons.  They  don't  go 
with  the  same  crowd."  Or:  "Why  don't  you 
ask  the  Peyton-Smiths'?  They're  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of  if  they  do  cut  a  dash  at  Newport.  The 
old  girl  is  rather  a  pal  of  mine." 

So  we  drop  old  Washburn,  cut  out  the  Becketts, 
and  take  courage  and  invite  the  hyphenated 
Smiths.  A  hint  from  him  pays  handsome  divi 
dends  !  and  he  is  distinctly  proud  of  the  family 
and  anxious  to  push  it  along  to  still  greater  suc 
cess. 

However,  he  has  never  asked  my  help  or  as 
sistance — except  in  a  financial  way.  He  has 
never  come  to  me  for  advice;  never  confided  any  of 
his  perplexities  or  troubles  to  me.  Perhaps  he  has 
none.  He  seems  quite  sufficient  unto  himself. 
And  he  certainly  is  not  my  friend.  It  seems 
strange  that  these  three  children  of  mine,  whose  up 
bringing  has  been  the  source  of  so  much  thought 
and  planning  on  the  part  of  my  wife  and  myself, 

,58 


MY  CHILDREN 

and  for  whose  ultimate  benefit  we  have  shaped  our 
own  lives,  should  be  the  merest,  almost  impersonal, 
acquaintances. 

The  Italian  fruit-vendor  on  the  corner,  whose 
dirty  offspring  crawl  among  the  empty  barrels  be 
hind  the  stand,  knows  far  more  of  his  children  than 
do  we  of  ours,  will  have  far  more  influence  on  the 
shaping  of  their  future  lives.  They  do  not  need 
us  now  and  they  never  have  needed  us.  A  trust 
company  could  have  performed  all  the  offices  of 
parenthood  with  which  we  have  been  burdened. 
We  have  paid  others  to  be  father  and  mother  in 
our  stead — or  rather,  as  I  now  see,  have  had  hired 
servants  to  go  through  the  motions  for  us;  and 
they  have  done  it  well,  so  far  as  the  mere  physical 
side  of  the  matter  is  concerned.  We  have  been 
almost  entirely  relieved  of  care. 

We  have  never  been  annoyed  by  our  children's 
presence  at  any  time.  We  have  never  been  both 
ered  with  them  at  meals.  We  have  never  had  to 
sit  up  with  them  when  they  could  not  go  to  sleep, 
or  watch  at  their  bedsides  during  the  night  when 
they  were  sick.  Competent  nurses — far  more 

159 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

competent  than  we — washed  their  little  dirty 
hands,  mended  the  torn  dresses  and  kissed  their 
wounds  to  make  them  well.  And  when  five 
o'clock  came  three  dainty  little  Dresden  figures 
in  pink  and  blue  ribbons  were  brought  down  to  the 
drawing  room  to  be  admired  by  our  guests. 
Then,  after  being  paraded,  they  were  carried  back 
to  the  nursery  to  resume  the  even  tenor  of  their  in 
dependent  existences. 

No  one  of  us  has  ever  needed  the  other  members 
of  the  family.  My  wife  has  never  called  on 
either  of  our  daughters  to  perform  any  of  those 
trifling  intimate  services  that  bring  a  mother  and 
tier  children  together.  There  has  always  been  a 
maid  standing  ready  to  hook  up  her  dress,  fetch 
her  book  or  her  hat,  or  a  footman  to  spring  up 
stairs  after  the  forgotten  gloves.  And  the  girls 
have  never  needed  their  mother — the  governess 
could  read  aloud  ever  so  much  better,  and  they 
always  had  their  own  maid  to  look  after  their 
clothes.  When  they  needed  new  gowns  they  sim 
ply  went  downtown  and  bought  them — and  the 
bill  was  sent  to  my  office.  Neither  of  them  was 

160 


MY  CHILDREN 

ever  forced  to  stay  at  home  that  her  sister  might 
have  some  pleasure  instead.  No;  our  wealth  has 
made  it  possible  for  each  of  my  children  to  enjoy 
every  luxury  without  any  sacrifice  on  another's 
part.  They  owe  nothing  to  each  other,  and  they 
really  owe  nothing  to  their  mother  or  myself — 
except  perhaps  a  monetary  obligation. 

But  there  is  one  person,  technically  not  one  of 
our  family,  for  whom  my  girls  have  the  deepest 
and  most  sincere  affection — that  is  old  Jane,  their 
Irish  nurse,  who  came  to  them  just  after  they  were 
weaned  and  stayed  with  us  until  the  period  of 
maids  and  governesses  arrived.  I  paid  her  twen 
ty-five  dollars  a  month,  and  for  nearly  ten  years 
she  never  let  them  out  of  her  sight — crooning  over 
them  at  night;  trudging  after  them  during  the 
daytime;  mending  their  clothes;  brushing  their 
teeth;  cutting  their  nails;  and  teaching  them 
strange  Irish  legends  of  the  banshee.  When  I 
called  her  into  the  library  and  told  her  the  chil 
dren  were  now  too  old  for  her  and  that  they  must 
have  a  governess,  the  look  that  came  into  her  face 
haunted  me  for  days. 

161 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"Ye  '11  be  after  taking  my  darlin's  away  from 
me*?"  she  muttered  in  a  dead  tone.  "  'T  will  be 
hard  for  me !"  She  stood  as  if  the  heart  had  died 
within  her,  and  the  hundred-dollar  bill  I  shoved 
into  her  hand  fell  to  the  floor.  Then  she  turned 
quickly  and  hurried  out  of  the  room  without  a 
sob.  I  heard  afterward  that  she  cried  for  a  week. 

Now  I  always  know  when  one  of  their  birth 
days  has  arrived  by  the  queer  package,  addressed 
in  old  Jane's  quaint  half-printed  writing,  that 
always  comes.  She  has  cared  for  many  dozens 
of  children  since  then,  but  loves  none  like  my  girls, 
for  she  came  to  them  in  her  young  womanhood  and 
they  were  her  first  charges. 

And  they  are  just  as  fond  of  her.  Indeed  it  is 
their  loyalty  to  this  old  Irish  nurse  that  gives  me 
faith  that  they  are  not  the  cold  propositions  they 
sometimes  seem  to  be.  For  once  when,  after 
much  careless  delay,  a  fragmentary  message  came 
to  us  that  she  was  ill  and  in  a  hospital  my  two 
daughters,  who  were  just  starting  for  a  ball,  flew 
to  her  bedside,  sat  with  her  all  through  the  night 
and  never  left  her  until  she  was  out  of  danger. 

162 


MY  CHILDREN 

"They  brought  me  back — my  darlin's!"  she 
whispered  to  us  when  later  we  called  to  see  how 
she  was  getting  on;  and  my  wife  looked  at  me 
across  the  rumpled  cot  and  her  lips  trembled.  I 
knew  what  was  in  her  mind.  Would  her  daugh 
ters  have  rushed  to  her  with  the  same  forgetful- 
ness  of  self  as  to  this  prematurely  gray  and 
wrinkled  woman  whose  shrunken  form  lay  be 
tween  us? 

Poor  old  Jane !  Alone  in  an  alien  land,  giving 
your  life  and  your  love  to  the  children  of  others, 
only  to  have  them  torn  from  your  arms  just  as 
the  tiny  fingers  have  entwined  themselves  like  ten 
drils  round  your  heart !  We  have  tossed  you  the 
choicest  blessings  of  our  lives  and  shouldered  you 
with  the  heavy  responsibilities  that  should  right 
fully  have  been  our  load.  Your  cup  has  run  over 
with  both  joy  and  sorrow;  but  you  have  drunk  of 
the  cup,  while  we  are  still  thirsty !  Our  hearts  are 
dry,  while  yours  is  green — nourished  with  the  love 
that  should  belong  to  us.  Poor  old  Jane?  Lucky 
old  Jane !  Anyhow  God  bless  you ! 


163 


CHAPTER  IV 

MY    MIND 

I  COME  of  a  family  that  prides  itself  on  its 
culture  and  intellectuality.  We  have  always 
been  professional  people,  for  my  grandfather  was, 
as  I  have  said,  a  clergyman;  and  among  my  uncles 
are  a  lawyer,  a  physician  and  a  professor.  My 
sisters,  also,  have  intermarried  with  professional 
men.  I  received  a  fairly  good  primary  and  sec 
ondary  education,  and  graduated  from  my  uni 
versity  with  honors — whatever  that  may  have 
meant.  I  was  distinctly  of  a  literary  turn  of 
mind;  and  during  my  four  years  of  study  I  im 
bibed  some  slight  information  concerning  the  Eng 
lish  classics,  music,  modern  history  and  meta 
physics.  I  could  talk  quite  wisely  about  Chaucer, 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Thomas  Love  Peacock 
and  Ann  Radcliife,  or  Kant,  Fichte  and  Schopen 
hauer. 

164 


I  can  see  now  that  my  smattering  of  culture  was 
neither  deep  nor  broad.  I  acquired  no  definite 
knowledge  of  underlying  principles,  of  general  his 
tory,  of  economics,  of  languages,  of  mathematics, 
of  physics  or  of  chemistry.  To  biology  and  its 
allies  I  paid  scarcely  any  attention  at  all,  except 
to  take  a  few  snap  courses.  I  really  secured  only 
a  surface  acquaintance  with  polite  English  liter 
ature,  mostly  very  modern.  The  main  part  of  my 
time  I  spent  reading  Stevenson  and  Kipling.  I 
did  well  in  English  composition  and  I  pronounced 
my  words  neatly  and  in  a  refined  manner.  At  the 
end  of  my  course,  when  twenty-two  years  old, 
I  was  handed  an  imitation-parchment  degree  and 
proclaimed  by  the  president  of  the  college  as  be 
longing  to  the  Brotherhood  of  Educated  Men. 

I  did  not.  I  was  an  imitation  educated  man; 
but,  though  spurious,  I  was  a  sufficiently  good 
counterfeit  to  pass  current  for  what  I  had  been 
declared  to  be.  Apart  from  a  little  Latin,  a  con 
siderable  training  in  writing  the  English  language, 
and  a  great  deal  of  miscellaneous  reading  of  an 
extremely  light  variety,  I  really  had  no  culture  at 

165 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

all.  I  could  not  speak  an  idiomatic  sentence  in 
French  or  German;  I  had  the  vaguest  ideas  about 
applied  mechanics  and  science;  and  no  thorough 
knowledge  about  anything;  but  I  was  supposed  to 
be  an  educated  man,  and  on  this  stock  in  trade  I 
have  done  business  ever  since — with,  to  be  sure, 
the  added  capital  of  a  degree  of  bachelor  of  laws. 

Now  since  my  graduation,  twenty-eight  years 
ago,  I  have  given  no  time  to  the  systematic  study 
of  any  subject  except  law.  I  have  read  no  serious 
works  dealing  with  either  history,  sociology,  eco 
nomics,  art  or  philosophy.  I  am  supposed  to 
know  enough  about  these  subjects  already.  I 
have  rarely  read  over  again  any  of  the  master 
pieces  of  English  literature  with  which  I  had  at 
least  a  bowing  acquaintance  when  at  college. 
Even  this  last  sentence  I  must  qualify  to  the  ex 
tent  of  admitting  that  I  now  see  that  this  acquaint 
ance  was  largely  vicarious,  and  that  I  frequently 
read  more  criticism  than  literature. 

It  is  characteristic  of  modern  education  that  it 
is  satisfied  with  the  semblance  and  not  the  sub 
stance  of  learning.  I  was  taught  about  Shaks- 

166 


MY  MIND 

pere,  but  not  Shakspere.  I  was  instructed  in  the 
history  of  literature,  but  not  in  literature  itself. 
I  knew  the  names  of  the  works  of  numerous  Eng 
lish  authors  and  I  knew  what  Taine  and  others 
thought  about  them,  but  I  knew  comparatively 
little  of  what  was  between  the  covers  of  the  books 
themselves.  I  was,  I  find,  a  student  of  letters  by 
proxy.  As  time  went  on  I  gradually  forgot  that 
I  had  not,  in  fact,  actually  perused  these  volumes ; 
and  to-day  I  am  accustomed  to  refer  familiarly  to 
works  I  never  have  read  at  all — not  a  difficult  task 
in  these  days  of  handbook  knowledge  and  literary 
varnish. 

It  is  this  patent  superficiality  that  so  bores  me 
with  the  affected  culture  of  modern  social  inter 
course.  We  all  constantly  attempt  to  discuss 
abstruse  subjects  in  philosophy  and  art,  and  pre 
tend  to  a  familiarity  with  minor  historical  char 
acters  and  events.  Now  why  try  to  talk  about 
Bergson's  theories  if  you  have  not  the  most  ele 
mentary  knowledge  of  philosophy  or  metaphysics*? 
Or  why  attempt  to  analyze  the  success  or  failure 

167 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

of  a  modern  post-impressionist  painter  when 
you  are  totally  ignorant  of  the  principles  of 
perspective  or  of  the  complex  problems  of  light 
and  shade*?  You  might  as  properly  presume  to 
discuss  a  mastoid  operation  with  a  surgeon  or  the 
doctrine  of  cypres  with  a  lawyer.  You  are 
equally  qualified. 

I  frankly  confess  that  my  own  ignorance  is 
abysmal.  In  the  last  twenty-eight  years  what  in 
formation  I  have  acquired  has  been  picked  up 
principally  from  newspapers  and  magazines;  yet 
my  library  table  is  littered  with  books  on  modern 
art  and  philosophy,  and  with  essays  on  literary 
and  historical  subjects.  I  do  not  read  them. 
They  are  my  intellectual  window  dressings.  I 
talk  about  them  with  others  who,  I  suspect,  have 
not  read  them  either;  and  we  confine  ourselves  to 
generalities,  with  a  careful  qualification  of  all  ex 
pressed  opinions,  no  matter  how  vague  and  elu 
sive.  For  example — a  safe  conversational  open 
ing: 

"Of  course  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in 
favor  of  Bergson's  general  point  of  view,  but  to 

168 


MY  MIND 

me  his  reasoning  is  inconclusive.  Don't  you  feel 
the  same  way — somehow?" 

You  can  try  this  on  almost  anybody.  It  will 
work  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred;  for, 
of  course,  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  favor 
of  the  views  of  anybody  who  is  not  an  absolute 
fool,  and  most  reasoning  is  open  to  attack  at  least 
for  being  inconclusive.  It  is  also  inevitable  that 
your  cultured  friend — or  acquaintance — should 
feel  the  same  way — somehow.  Most  people  do — 
in  a  way. 

The  real  truth  of  the  matter  is,  all  I  know  about 
Bergson  is  that  he  is  a  Frenchman — is  he  actually 
by  birth  a  Frenchman  or  a  Belgian*? — who  as  a 
philosopher  has  a  great  reputation  on  the  Conti 
nent,  and  who  recently  visited  America  to  deliver 
some  lectures.  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea  what 
his  theories  are,  and  I  should  not  if  I  heard  him 
explain  them.  Moreover,  I  cannot  discuss  phi 
losophy  or  metaphysics  intelligently,  because  I 
have  not  to-day  the  rudimentary  knowledge  neces 
sary  to  understand  what  it  is  all  about. 

It  is  the  same  with  art.  On  the  one  or  two  iso- 
169 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

lated  varnishing  days  when  we  go  to  a  gallery  we 
criticize  the  pictures  quite  fiercely.  "We  know 
what  we  like."  Yes,  perhaps  we  do.  I  am  not 
sure  even  of  that.  But  in  eighty-five  cases  out  of 
a  hundred  none  of  us  have  any  knowledge  of 
the  history  of  painting  or  any  intelligent  idea 
of  why  Velasquez  is  regarded  as  a  master; 
yet  we  acquire  a  glib  familiarity  with  the  names 
of  half  a  dozen  cubists  or  futurists,  and  bandy 
them  about  much  as  my  office  boy  does  the 
names  of  his  favorite  pugilists  or  baseball  play 
ers. 

It  is  even  worse  with  history  and  biography. 
We  cannot  afford  or  have  not  the  decency  to  ad 
mit  that  we  are  uninformed.  We  speak  casually 
of,  say,  Henry  of  Navarre,  or  Beatrice  D'Este,  or 
Charles  the  Fifth.  I  select  my  names  intention 
ally  from  among  the  most  celebrated  in  history; 
yet  how  many  of  us  know  within  two  hundred 
years  of  when  any  one  of  them  lived — or  much 
about  them  *?  How  much  definite  historical  infor 
mation  have  we,  even  about  matters  of  genuine 
importance? 

170 


MY  MIND 

Let  us  take  a  shot  at  a  few  dates.  I  will  make 
it  childishly  easy.  Give  me,  if  you  can,  even  ap 
proximately,  the  year  of  Csesar's  Conquest  of 
Gaul,  the  Invasion  of  Europe  by  the  Huns;  the 
Sack  of  Rome;  the  Battle  of  Chalons-sur-Marne ; 
the  Battle  of  Tours;  the  Crowning  of  Charle 
magne;  the  Great  Crusade;  the  Fall  of  Constan 
tinople;  Magna  Charta;  the  Battle  of  Crecy;  the 
Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold;  the  Massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew;  the  Spanish  Armada;  the  Execu 
tion  of  King  Charles  I;  the  Fall  of  the  Bastile; 
the  Inauguration  of  George  Washington ;  the  Bat 
tle  of  Waterloo;  the  Louisiana  Purchase;  the 
Indian  Mutiny;  the  Siege  of  Paris. 

I  will  look  out  of  the  window  while  you  go 
through  the  mental  agony  of  trying  to  remember. 
It  looks  easy,  does  it  not?  Almost  an  affront  to 
ask  the  date  of  Waterloo !  Well,  I  wanted  to  be 
fair  and  even  things  up;  but,  honestly,  can  you 
answer  correctly  five  out  of  these  twenty  elemen 
tary  questions'?  I  doubt  it.  Yet  you  have,  no 
doubt,  lying  on  your  table  at  the  present  time,  in 
timate  studies  of  past  happenings  and  persons  that 

171 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

presuppose  and  demand  a  rough  general  knowl 
edge  of  American,  French  or  English  history. 

The  dean  of  Radcliffe  College,  who  happened 
to  be  sitting  behind  two  of  her  recent  graduates 
while  attending  a  performance  of  Parker's  de 
servedly  popular  play  "Disraeli"  last  winter,  over 
heard  one  of  them  say  to  the  other:  "You  know, 
I  could  n't  remember  whether  Disraeli  was  in  the 
Old  or  the  New  Testament;  and  I  looked  in  both 
and  could  n't  find  him  in  either!" 

I  still  pass  socially  as  an  exceptionally  cultured 
man — one  who  is  well  up  on  these  things;  yet  I 
confess  to  knowing  to-day  absolutely  nothing  of 
history,  either  ancient,  medieval  or  modern.  It 
is  not  a  matter  of  mere  dates,  by  any  means, 
though  I  believe  dates  to  be  of  some  general  im 
portance.  My  ignorance  is  deeper  than  that.  I 
do  not  remember  the  events  themselves  or  their 
significance.  I  do  not  now  recall  any  of  the  facts 
connected  with  the  great  epoch-making  events  of 
classic  times;  I  cannot  tell  as  I  write,  for  example, 
who  fought  in  the  battle  of  the  Allia;  why  Qesar 

172 


MY  MIND 

crossed  the  Rubicon,  or  why  Cicero  delivered  an 
oration  against  Catiline. 

As  to  what  subsequently  happened  on  the 
Italian  peninsula  my  mind  is  a  blank  un 
til  the  appearance  of  Garibaldi  during  the  last 
century.  I  really  never  knew  just  who  Garibaldi 
was  until  I  read  Trevelyan's  three  books  on  the 
Resorgimento  last  winter,  and  those  I  perused  be 
cause  I  had  taken  a  motor  trip  through  Italy  the 
summer  before.  I  know  practically  nothing  of 
Spanish  history,  and  my  mind  is  a  blank  as  to 
Russia,  Poland,  Turkey,  Sweden,  Germany, 
Austria,  and  Holland. 

Of  course  I  know  that  the  Dutch  Republic  rose 
— assisted  by  one  Motley,  of  Boston — and  that 
William  of  Orange  was  a  Hollander — or  at  least 
I  suppose  he  was  born  there.  But  how  Holland 
came  to  rise  I  know  not — or  whether  William  was 
named  after  an  orange  or  oranges  were  named 
after  him. 

As  for  central  Europe,  it  is  a  shocking  fact 
that  I  never  knew  there  was  not  some  in- 
terdependency  between  Austria  and  Germany  until 

173 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

last  summer.  I  only  found  out  the  contrary 
when  I  started  to  motor  through  the  Austrian  Ty 
rol  and  was  held  up  by  the  custom  officers  on  the 
frontier.  I  knew  that  an  old  emperor  named 
William  somehow  founded  the  German  Empire 
out  of  little  states,  with  the  aid  of  Bismarck  and 
Von  Moltke ;  but  that  is  all  I  know  about  it.  I  do 
not  know  when  the  war  between  Prussia  and  Aus 
tria  took  place  or  what  battles  were  fought  in  it. 
The  only  battle  in  the  Franco-Prussian  War  I 
am  sure  of  is  Sedan,  which  I  remember  because  I 
was  once  told  that  Phil  Sheridan  was  present  as 
a  spectator.  I  know  Gustavus  Adolphus  was  a 
king  of  Sweden,  but  I  do  not  know  when;  and 
apart  from  their  names  I  know  nothing  of 
Theodoric,  Charles  Martel,  Peter  the  Hermit, 
Lodovico  Moro,  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  Cath 
erine  of  Aragon,  Catherine  de'  Medici,  Richelieu, 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  Cardinal  Wolsey,  Prince 
Rupert — I  do  not  refer  to  Anthony  Hope's  hero, 
Rupert  of  Hentzau — Saint  Louis,  Admiral  Co- 
ligny,  or  the  thousands  of  other  illustrious  person 
ages  that  crowd  the  pages  of  history. 

174 


MY  MIND 

I  do  not  know  when  or  why  the  Seven  Years' 
War,  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  the  Hundred  Years' 
War  or  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  took 
place,  why  the  Edict  of  Nantes  was  revoked  or 
what  it  was,  or  who  fought  at  Malplaquet,  Tours, 
Soissons,  Marengo,  Plassey,  Oudenarde,  Fontenoy 
or  Borodino — or  when  they  occurred.  I  prob 
ably  did  know  most  if  not  all  of  these  things,  but  I 
have  entirely  forgotten  them.  Unfortunately  I 
manage  to  act  as  if  I  had  not.  The  result  is  that, 
having  no  foundation  to  build  on,  any  informa 
tion  I  do  acquire  is  immediately  swept  away. 
People  are  constantly  giving  me  books  on  special 
topics,  such  as  Horace  Walpole  and  his  Friends, 
France  in  the  Thirteenth  Century,  The  Holland 
House  Circle,  or  Memoirs  of  Madame  du  Barry; 
but  of  what  use  can  they  be  to  me  when  I 
do  not  know,  or  at  least  have  forgotten,  even 
the  salient  facts  of  French  and  English  his 
tory? 

We  are  undoubtedly  the  most  superficial  people 
in  the  world  about  matters  of  this  sort.  Any  bluff 
goes.  I  recall  being  at  a  dinner  not  long  ago  when 

175 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

somebody  mentioned  Conrad  II.  One  of  the 
guests  hazarded  the  opinion  that  he  had  died  in  the 
year  1330.  This  would  undoubtedly  have  passed 
muster  but  for  a  learned-looking  person  farther 
down  the  table  who  deprecatingly  remarked:  "I 
do  not  like  to  correct  you,  but  I  think  Conrad  the 
Second  died  in  1337!"  The  impression  created 
on  the  assembled  company  cannot  be  overstated. 
Later  on  in  the  smoking  room  I  ventured  to  com 
pliment  the  gentleman  on  his  fund  of  information, 
saying : 

"Why,  I  never  even  heard  of  Conrad  the  Sec 
ond  !" 

"Nor  I  either,"  he  answered  shamelessly. 

It  is  the  same  with  everything — music,  poetry, 
politics.  I  go  night  after  night  to  hear  the  best 
music  in  the  world  given  at  fabulous  cost  in  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House  and  am  content  to 
murmur  vague  ecstasies  over  Caruso,  without  be 
ing  aware  of  who  wrote  the  opera  or  what  it  is  all 
about.  Most  of  us  know  nothing  of  orchestration 
or  even  the  names  of  the  different  instruments. 
We  may  not  even  be  sure  of  what  is  meant  by 

176 


MY  MIND 

counterpoint  or  the  difference  between  a  fugue  and 
an  arpeggio. 

A  handbook  would  give  us  these  minor  details 
in  an  hour's  reading;  but  we  prefer  to  sit  vacuously 
making  feeble  jokes  about  the  singers  or  the  oc 
cupants  of  the  neighboring  boxes,  without  a  single 
intelligent  thought  as  to  why  the  composer  at 
tempted  to  write  precisely  this  sort  of  an  opera, 
when  he  did  it,  or  how  far  he  succeeded.  We  are 
content  to  take  our  opinions  and  criticisms  ready 
made,  no  matter  from  whose  mouth  they  fall; 
and  one  hears  everywhere  phrases  that,  once  let 
loose  from  the  Pandora's  Box  of  some  foolish 
brain,  never  cease  from  troubling. 

In  science  I  am  in  even  a  more  parlous  state.  I 
know  nothing  of  applied  electricity  in  its  simplest 
forms.  I  could  not  explain  the  theory  of  the 
gas  engine,  and  plumbing  is  to  me  one  of  the  great 
mysteries. 

Last,  but  even  more  lamentable,  I  really  know 
nothing  about  politics,  though  I  am  rather  a  strong 
party  man  and  my  name  always  appears  on  im 
portant  citizens'  committees  about  election  time. 

177 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

I  do  not  know  anything  about  the  city  departments 
or  its  fiscal  administration.  I  should  not  have 
the  remotest  idea  where  to  direct  a  poor  person 
who  applied  to  me  for  relief.  Neither  have  I  ever 
taken  the  trouble  to  familiarize  myself  with  even 
the  more  important  city  buildings. 

Of  course  I  know  the  City  Hall  by  sight,  but  I 
have  never  been  inside  it;  I  have  never  visited  the 
Tombs  or  any  one  of  our  criminal  courts;  I  have 
never  been  in  a  police  station,  a  fire  house,  or  in 
spected  a  single  one  of  our  prisons  or  reformatory 
institutions.  I  do  not  know  whether  police  mag 
istrates  are  elected  or  appointed  and  I  could  not 
tell  you  in  what  congressional  district  I  reside.  I 
do  not  know  the  name  of  my  alderman,  assembly 
man,  state  senator  or  representative  in  Congress. 

I  do  not  know  who  is  at  the  head  of  the  Fire  De 
partment,  the  Street  Cleaning  Department,  the 
Health  Department,  the  Park  Department  or  the 
Water  Department;  and  I  could  not  tell,  except 
for  the  Police  Department,  what  other  depart 
ments  there  are.  Even  so,  I  do  not  know  what 
police  precinct  I  am  living  in,  the  name  of  the 

178 


MY  MIND 

captain  in  command,  or  where  the  nearest  fixed 
post  is  at  which  an  officer  is  supposed  to  be  on 
duty. 

As  I  write  I  can  name  only  five  members  of  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court,  three  members  of 
the  Cabinet,  and  only  one  of  the  congressmen  from 
the  state  of  New  York.  This  in  cold  type  seems 
almost  preposterous,  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  a 
fact — and  I  am  an  active  practicing  lawyer  be 
sides.  I  am  shocked  to  realize  these  things.  Yet 
I  am  supposed  to  be  an  exceptionally  intelligent 
member  of  the  community  and  my  opinion  is  fre 
quently  sought  on  questions  of  municipal  politics. 

Needless  to  say,  the  same  indifference  has  pre 
vented  my  studying — except  in  the  most  super 
ficial  manner — the  single  tax,  free  trade  and  pro 
tection,  the  minimum  wage,  the  recall,  referen 
dum,  or  any  other  of  the  present  much-mooted 
questions.  How  is  this  possible"?  The  only 
answer  I  can  give  is  that  I  have  confined  my 
mental  activities  entirely  to  making  my  legal  prac 
tice  as  lucrative  as  possible.  I  have  taken  things 
as  I  found  them  and  put  up  with  abuses  rather 

179 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

than  go  to  the  trouble  to  do  away  with  them.  I 
have  no  leisure  to  try  to  reform  the  universe.  I 
leave  that  task  to  others  whose  time  is  less  valu 
able  than  mine  and  who  have  something  to  gain 
by  getting  into  the  public  eye. 

The  mere  fact,  however,  that  I  am  not  inter 
ested  in  local  politics  would  not  ordinarily,  in  a 
normal  state  of  civilization,  explain  my  ignorance 
of  these  things.  In  most  societies  they  would  be 
the  usual  subjects  of  conversation.  People  natu 
rally  discuss  what  interests  them  most.  Unedu 
cated  people  talk  about  the  weather,  their  work, 
their  ailments  and  their  domestic  affairs.  With 
more  enlightened  folk  the  conversation  turns  on 
broader  topics — the  state  of  the  country,  politics, 
trade,  or  art. 

It  is  only  among  the  so-called  society  people 
that  the  subjects  selected  for  discussion  do  not  in 
terest  anybody.  Usually  the  talk  that  goes  on 
at  dinners  or  other  entertainments  relates  only  to 
what  plays  the  conversationalists  in  question  have 
seen  or  which  of  the  best  sellers  they  have  read. 
For  the  rest  the  conversation  is  dexterously  de- 

180 


MY  MIND 

voted  to  the  avoidance  of  the  disclosure  of  igno 
rance.  Even  among  those  who  would  like  to  dis 
cuss  the  questions  of  the  day  intelligently  and  to 
ascertain  other  people's  views  pertaining  to  them, 
there  is  such  a  fundamental  lack  of  elementary  in 
formation  that  it  is  a  hopeless  undertaking.  They 
are  reduced  to  the  common  places  of  vulgar  and 
superficial  comment. 

"  'Tis  plain,"  cry  they,  "our  mayor  's  a  noddy; 
and  as  for  the  corporation — shocking!" 

The  mayor  may  be  and  probably  is  a  noddy,  but 
his  critics  do  not  know  why.  The  average  woman 
who  dines  out  hardly  knows  what  she  is  saying 
or  what  is  being  said  to  her.  She  will  usu 
ally  agree  with  any  proposition  that  is  put  to  her 
—if  she  has  heard  it.  Generally  she  does  not  lis 
ten. 

I  know  a  minister's  wife  who  never  pays  the 
slightest  attention  to  anything  that  is  being  said 
to  her,  being  engrossed  in  a  torrent  of  explanation 
regarding  her  children's  education  and  minor  dis 
eases.  Once  a  bored  companion  in  a  momentary 
pause  fixed  her  sternly  with  his  eye  and  said  dis- 

181 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tinctly:     "But  I  don't  give  a  about  your 

children!"  At  which  the  lady  smiled  brightly 
and  replied:  "Yes.  Quite  so.  Exactly!  As  I 
was  saying,  Johnny  got  a — " 

But,  apart  from  such  hectic  people,  who  run 
quite  amuck  whenever  they  open  their  mouths, 
there  are  large  numbers  of  men  and  women  of 
some  intelligence  who  never  make  the  effort  to  ex 
press  conscientiously  any  ideas  or  opinions.  They 
find  it  irksome  to  think.  They  are  completely  in 
different  as  to  whether  a  play  is  really  good  or  bad 
or  who  is  elected  mayor  of  the  city.  In  any  event 
they  will  have  their  coffee,  rolls  and  honey  served 
in  bed  the  next  morning;  and  they  know  that, 
come  what  will — flood,  tempest,  fire  or  famine — 
there  will  be  forty-six  quarts  of  extra  xxx  milk  left 
at  their  area  door.  They  are  secure.  The  stock 
market  may  rise  and  fall,  presidents  come  and  go, 
but  they  will  remain  safe  in  the  security  of  fifty 
thousand  a  year.  And,  since  they  really  do  not 
care  about  anything,  they  are  as  likely  to  praise 
as  to  blame,  and  to  agree  with  everybody  about 
everything.  Their  world  is  all  cakes  and  ale — 

182 


MY  MIND 

why  should  they  bother  as  to  whether  the  pothouse 
beer  is  bad4? 

I  confess,  with  something  of  a  shock,  that  es 
sentially  I  am  like  the  rest  of  these  people.  The 
reason  I  am  not  interested  in  my  country  and  my 
city  is  because,  by  reason  of  my  financial  and  so 
cial  independence,  they  have  ceased  to  be  my  city 
and  country.  I  should  be  just  as  comfortable  if 
our  Government  were  a  monarchy.  It  really  is 
nothing  to  me  whether  my  tax  rate  is  six  one- 
hundredths  of  one  per  cent  higher  or  lower,  or 
what  mayor  rules  in  City  Hall. 

So  long  as  Fifth  Avenue  is  decently  paved,  so 
that  my  motor  runs  smoothly  when  I  go  to  the 
opera,  I  do  not  care  whether  we  have  a  Reform, 
Tammany  or  Republican  administration  in  the 
city.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  my  valet  will  still 
come  into  my  bedroom  at  exactly  nine  o'clock 
every  morning,  turn  on  the  heat  and  pull  back  the 
curtains.  His  low,  modulated  "Your  bath  is 
ready,  sir,"  will  steal  through  my  dreams,  and  he 
will  assist  me  to  rise  and  put  on  my  embroidered 
dressing  gown  of  wadded  silk  in  preparation  for 

183 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

another  day's  hard  labor  in  the  service  of  my  fel- 
lowmen.  Times  have  changed  since  my  father's 
frugal  college  days.  Have  they  changed  for  bet 
ter  or  for  worse4? 

Of  one  thing  I  am  certain — my  father  was  a 
better-educated  man  than  I  am.  I  admit  that,  un 
der  the  circumstances,  this  does  not  imply  very 
much;  but  my  parent  had,  at  least,  some  solid 
ground  beneath  his  intellectual  feet  on  which  he 
could  stand.  His  mind  was  thoroughly  disci 
plined  by  rigid  application  to  certain  serious 
studies  that  were  not  selected  by  himself.  From 
the  day  he  entered  college  he  was  in  active  com 
petition  with  his  classmates  in  all  his  studies,  and 
if  he  had  been  a  shirker  they  would  all  have  known 
it.  * 

In  my  own  case,  after  I  had  once  matriculated, 
the  elective  system  left  me  free  to  choose  my  own 
subjects  and  to  pursue  them  faithfully  or  not,  so 
long  as  I  could  manage  to  squeak  through  my  ex 
aminations.  My  friends  were  not  necessarily 
among  those  who  elected  the  same  courses,  and 

184 


MY  MIND 

whether  I  did  well  or  ill  was  nobody's  business  but 
my  own  and  the  dean's.  It  was  all  very  pleasant 
and  exceedingly  lackadaisical,  and  by  the  time  I 
graduated  I  had  lost  whatever  power  of  concen 
tration  I  had  acquired  in  my  preparatory  schooling. 
At  the  law  school  I  was  at  an  obvious  disad 
vantage  with  the  men  from  the  smaller  colleges 
which  still  followed  the  old-fashioned  curriculum 
and  insisted  on  the  mental  discipline  entailed  by 
advanced  Greek,  Latin,  the  higher  mathematics, 
science  and  biology. 

In  point  of  fact  I  loafed  delightfully  for  four 
years  and  let  my  mind  run  absolutely  to  seed, 
while  I  smoked  pipe  after  pipe  under  the  elms, 
watching  the  squirrels  and  dreaming  dreams.  I 
selected  elementary — almost  childlike — courses  in 
a  large  variety  of  subjects;  and  as  soon  as  I  had 
progressed  sufficiently  to  find  them  difficult  I  cast 
about  for  other  snaps  to  take  their  places.  My 
bookcase  exhibited  a  collection  of  primers  on 
botany,  zoology  and  geology,  the  fine  arts,  music, 
elementary  French  and  German,  philosophy, 
ethics,  metaphysics,  architecture,  English  composi- 

185 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tion,  Shakspere,  the  English  poets  and  novelists, 
oral  debating  and  modern  history. 

I  took  nothing  that  was  not  easy  and  about 
which  I  did  not  already  know  a  little  something. 
I  attended  the  minimum  number  of  lectures  re 
quired,  did  the  smallest  amount  of  reading  possi 
ble  and,  by  cramming  vigorously  for  three  weeks 
at  the  end  of  the  year,  managed  to  pass  all  exami 
nations  creditably.  I  averaged,  I  suppose,  outside 
of  the  lecture  room,  about  a  single  hour's  desultory 
work  a  day.  I  really  need  not  have  done  that. 

When,  for  example,  it  came  time  to  take  the 
examination  in  French  composition  I  discovered 
that  I  had  read  but  two  out  of  the  fifteen  plays 
and  novels  required,  the  plots  of  any  one  of  which 
I  might  be  asked  to  give  on  my  paper.  Rather 
than  read  these  various  volumes,  I  prepared  a 
skeleton  digest  in  French,  sufficiently  vague,  which 
could  by  slight  transpositions  be  made  to  do  serv 
ice  in  every  case.  I  committed  it  to  memory.  It 
ran  somewhat  as  follows: 

"The  play" — or  novel — "entitled is 

generally  conceded  to  be  one  of  the  most  carefully 

186 


MY  MIND 

constructed    and    artistically    developed    of    all 

's" — here    insert   name    of    author — "many 

masterly  productions.  The  genius  of  the  author 
has  enabled  him  skilfully  to  portray  the  at 
mosphere  and  characters  of  the  period.  The 

scene  is  laid  in and  the  time  roughly  is  that 

of  the  th  century.     The  hero  is  ;  the 

heroine,  ;  and  after  numerous  obstacles  and 

ingenious   complications   they   eventually  marry. 

The    character   of    the    old   " — here    insert 

father,  mother,  uncle  or  grandparent,  gardener  or 
family  servant — "is  delightfully  whimsical  and 
humorous,  and  full  of  subtle  touches.  The  tragic 

element  is  furnished  by  ,  the  .     The 

author  touches  with  keen  satire  on  the  follies  and 
vices  of  the  time,  while  the  interest  in  the  principal 
love  affair  is  sustained  until  the  final  denouement. 
Altogether  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  more 
brilliant  example  of  dramatic — or  literary — 
art." 

I  give  this  rather  shocking  example  of  sopho- 
moric  shiftlessness  for  the  purpose  of  illustrating 
my  attitude  toward  my  educational  opportunities 

187 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

and  what  was  possible  in  the  way  of  dexterously 
avoiding  them.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  learn  the 
names  of  the  chief  characters  in  the  various  plays 
and  novels  prescribed.  If  I  could  acquire  a  brief 
scenario  of  each  so  much  the  better.  Invariably 
they  had  heroes  and  heroines,  good  old  servants 
or  grandparents,  and  merry  jesters.  At  the  exam 
ination  I  successfully  simulated  familiarity  with 
a  book  I  had  never  read  and  received  a  commenda 
tory  mark. 

This  happy-go-lucky  frame  of  mind  was  by  no 
means  peculiar  to  myself.  Indeed  I  believe  it  to 
have  been  shared  by  the  great  majority  of  my  class 
mates.  The  result  was  that  we  were  sent  forth 
into  the  world  without  having  mastered  any  sub 
ject  whatsoever,  or  even  followed  it  for  a  suffi 
cient  length  of  time  to  become  sincerely  interested 
in  it.  The  only  study  I  pursued  more  than  one 
year  was  English  composition,  which  came  easily 
to  me,  and  which  in  one  form  or  another  I  fol 
lowed  throughout  my  course.  Had  I  adopted  the 
same  tactics  with  any  other  of  the  various  branches 
open  to  me,  such  as  history,  chemistry  or  lan- 

188 


MY  MIND 

guages,  I  should  not  be  what  I  am  to-day — a  hope 
lessly  superficial  man. 

Mind  you,  I  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  I  got 
nothing  out  of  it  at  all.  Undoubtedly  I  absorbed 
a  smattering  of  a  variety  of  subjects  that  might 
on  a  pinch  pass  for  education.  I  observed  how 
men  with  greater  social  advantages  than  myself 
brushed  their  hair,  wore  their  clothes  and  took  off 
their  hats  to  their  women  friends.  Frankly  that 
was  about  everything  I  took  away  with  me.  I 
was  a  victim  of  that  liberality  of  opportunity 
which  may  be  a  heavenly  gift  to  a  post-graduate 
in  a  university,  but  which  is  intellectual  damna 
tion  to  an  undergraduate  collegian. 

The  chief  fault  that  I  have  to  find  with  my 
own  education,  however,  is  that  at  no  time  was  I 
encouraged  to  think  for  myself.  No  older  man 
ever  invited  me  to  his  study,  there  quietly  and 
frankly  to  discuss  the  problems  of  human  exist 
ence.  I  was  left  entirely  vague  as  to  what  it  was 
all  about,  and  the  relative  values  of  things  were 
never  indicated.  The  same  emphasis  was  placed 

189 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

on  everything — whether  it  happened  to  be  the 
Darwinian  Theory,  the  Fall  of  Jerusalem  or  the 
character  of  Ophelia. 

I  had  no  philosophy,  no  theory  of  morals,  and 
no  one  ever  even  attempted  to  explain  to  me  what 
religion  or  the  religious  instinct  was  supposed  to 
be.  I  was  like  a  child  trying  to  build  a  house  and 
gathering  materials  of  any  substance,  shape  or 
color  without  regard  to  the  character  of  the  in 
tended  edifice.  I  was  like  a  man  trying  to  get 
somewhere  and  taking  whatever  paths  suited  his 
fancy — first  one  and  then  another,  irrespective 
of  where  they  led.  The  Why  and  the  Wherefore 
were  unknown  questions  to  me,  and  I  left  the  uni 
versity  without  any  idea  as  to  how  I  came 
to  be  in  the  world  or  what  my  duties  toward  my 
fellowmen  might  be. 

In  a  word  the  two  chief  factors  in  education 
passed  me  by  entirely — (a}  my  mind  received  no 
discipline;  (£)  and  the  fundamental  propositions 
of  natural  philosophy  were  neither  brought  to  my 
attention  nor  explained  to  me.  These  deficiencies 
have  never  been  made  up.  Indeed,  as  to  the  first, 

190 


MY  MIND 

my  mind,  instead  of  being  developed  by  my  going 
to  college,  was  seriously  injured.  My  memory 
has  never  been  good  since  and  my  methods  of 
reading  and  thinking  are  hurried  and  slipshod, 
but  this  is  a  small  thing  compared  with  the  lack 
of  any  philosophy  of  life.  I  acquired  none  as  a 
youth  and  I  have  never  had  any  since.  For 
fifty  years  I  have  existed  without  any  guiding 
purpose  except  blindly  to  get  ahead — without  any 
religion,  either  natural  or  dogmatic.  I  am  one 
of  a  type — a  pretty  good,  perfectly  aimless  man, 
without  any  principles  at  all. 

They  tell  me  that  things  have  changed  at  the 
universities  since  my  day  and  that  the  elective 
system  is  no  longer  in  favor.  Judging  by  my  own 
case,  the  sooner  it  is  abolished  entirely,  the  better 
for  the  undergraduate.  I  should,  however,  sug 
gest  one  important  qualification — namely,  that  a 
boy  be  given  the  choice  in  his  Freshman  year  of 
three  or  four  general  subjects,  such  as  philosophy, 
art,  history,  music,  science,  languages  or  literature, 
and  that  he  should  be  compelled  to  follow  the 
subjects  he  elects  throughout  his  course. 

191 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

In  addition  I  believe  the  relation  of  every  study 
to  the  whole  realm  of  knowledge  should  be  care 
fully  explained.  Art  cannot  be  taught  apart  from 
history;  history  cannot  be  grasped  independently 
of  literature.  Religion,  ethics,  science  and  phi 
losophy  are  inextricably  involved  one  with  an 
other. 

But  mere  learning  or  culture,  a  knowledge  of 
facts  or  of  arts,  is  unimportant  as  compared  with  a 
realization  of  the  significance  of  life.  The  one  is 
superficial — the  other  is  fundamental;  the  one  is 
temporal — the  other  is  spiritual.  There  is  no 
more  wretched  human  being  than  a  highly  trained 
but  utterly  purposeless  man — which,  after  all,  is 
only  saying  that  there  is  no  use  in  having  an  edu 
cation  without  a  religion;  that  unless  some  one  is 
going  to  live  in  the  house  there  is  not  much  use 
in  elaborately  furnishing  it. 

I  am  not  attempting  to  write  a  treatise  on 
pedagogy;  but,  when  all  is  said,  I  am  inclined  to 
the  belief  that  my  unfortunate  present  condition, 
whatever  my  material  success  may  have  been,  is 
due  to  lack  of  education — in  philosophy  in  its 

192 


MY  MIND 

broadest  sense;  in  mental  discipline;  and  in  actual 
acquirement. 

It  is  in  this  last  field  that  my  deficiencies  and 
those  of  my  class  are  superficially  most  apparent. 
A  wide  fund  of  information  may  be  less  important 
than  a  knowledge  of  general  principles,  but  it  is 
none  the  less  valuable;  and  all  of  us  ought  to  be 
equipped  with  the  kind  of  education  that  will  en 
able  us  to  understand  the  world  of  men  as  well  as 
the  world  of  nature. 

It  is,  of  course,  essential  for  us  to  realize  that 
the  physical  characteristics  of  a  continent  may 
have  more  influence  on  the  history  of  nations  than 
mere  wars  or  battles,  however  far-reaching  the 
foreign  policies  of  their  rulers;  but,  in  addition  to 
an  appreciation  of  this  and  similar  underlying 
propositions  governing  the  development  of  civiliza 
tion,  the  educated  man  who  desires  to  study  the 
problems  of  his  own  time  and  country,  to  follow 
the  progress  of  science  and  philosophy,  and  to 
enjoy  music,  literature  and  art,  must  have  a  cer 
tain  elementary  equipment  of  mere  facts. 

The  oriental  attitude  of  mind  that  enabled  the 
193 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

Shah  of  Persia  calmly  to  decline  the  invitation  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales  to  attend  the  Derby,  on  the 
ground  that  "he  knew  one  horse  could  run  faster 
than  another,"  is  foreign  to  that  of  Western  civili 
zation.  The  Battle  of  Waterloo  is  a  flyspeck  in 
importance  contrasted  with  the  problem  of  future 
existence;  but  the  man  who  never  heard  of  Na 
poleon  would  make  a  dull  companion  in  this  world 
or  the  next. 

We  live  in  direct  proportion  to  the  keenness  of 
our  interest  in  life;  and  the  wider  and  broader  this 
interest  is,  the  richer  and  happier  we  are.  A  man 
is  as  big  as  his  sympathies,  as  small  as  his  selfish 
ness.  The  yokel  thinks  only  of  his  dinner  and  his 
snooze  under  the  hedge,  but  the  man  of  education 
rejoices  in  every  new  production  of  the  human 
brain. 

Advantageous  intercourse  between  civilized 
human  beings  requires  a  working  knowledge  of 
the  elementary  facts  of  history,  of  the  achieve 
ments  in  art,  music  and  letters,  as  well  as  of  the 
principles  of  science  and  philosophy.  When 
people  go  to  quarreling  over  the  importance 

194 


MY  MIND 

of  a  particular  phase  of  knowledge  or  edu 
cation  they  are  apt  to  forget  that,  after  all,  it  is 
a  purely  relative  matter,  and  that  no  one  can  rea 
sonably  belittle  the  value  of  any  sort  of  informa 
tion.  But  furious  arguments  arise  over  the  ques 
tion  as  to  how  history  should  be  taught,  and 
"whether  a  boy's  head  should  be  crammed  full  of 
dates."  Nobody  in  his  senses  would  want  a  boy's 
head  crammed  full  of  dates  any  more  than  he 
would  wish  his  stomach  stuffed  with  bananas ;  but 
both  the  head  and  the  stomach  need  some  nourish 
ment — better  dates  than  nothing. 

If  a  knowledge  of  a  certain  historical  event 
is  of  any  value  whatsoever,  the  greater  and 
more  detailed  our  knowledge  the  better — includ 
ing  perhaps,  but  not  necessarily,  its  date.  The 
question  is  not  essentially  whether  the  dates  are  of 
value,  but  how  much  emphasis  should  be  placed 
on  them  to  the  exclusion  of  other  facts  of  history. 

"There  is  no  use  trying  to  remember  dates,"  is  a 
familiar  cry.  There  is  about  as  much  sense  in 
such  a  statement  as  the  announcement:  "There 
is  no  use  trying  to  remember  who  wrote  Henry 

195 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

Esmond,  composed  the  Fifth  Symphony,  or 
painted  the  Last  Supper."  There  is  a  lot  of  use 
in  trying  to  remember  anything.  The  people  who 
argue  to  the  contrary  are  too  lazy  to  try. 

I  suppose  it  may  be  conceded,  for  the  sake  of 
argument,  that  every  American,  educated  or  not, 
should  know  the  date  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,  and  have  some  sort  of  acquaintance  with 
the  character  and  deeds  of  Washington.  If  we 
add  to  this  the  date  of  the  discovery  of  America 
and  the  first  English  settlement;  the  inauguration 
of  the  first  president;  the  Louisiana  Purchase;  the 
Naval  War  with  England;  the  War  with  Mexico; 
the  Missouri  Compromise,  and  the  firing  on  Fort 
Sumter,  we  cannot  be  accused  of  pedantry.  It 
certainly  could  not  do  any  one  of  us  harm  to  know 
these  dates  or  a  little  about  the  events  themselves. 

This  is  equally  true,  only  in  a  lesser  degree,  in 
regard  to  the  history  of  foreign  nations.  Any 
accurate  knowledge  is  worth  while.  It  is  harder, 
in  the  long  run,  to  remember  a  date  slightly  wrong 
than  with  accuracy.  The  dateless  man,  who  is 

196 


MY  MIND 

as  vague  as  I  am  about  the  League  of  Cambray 
or  Philip  II,  will  loudly  assert  that  the  trouble 
incident  to  remembering  a  date  in  history  is  a  pure 
waste  of  time.  He  will  allege  that  "a  general 
idea" — a  very  favorite  phrase — is  all  that  is  neces 
sary.  In  the  case  of  such  a  person  you  can  safely 
gamble  that  his  so-called  "general  idea"  is  no  idea 
at  all.  Pin  him  down  and  he  will  not  be  able  to 
tell  you  within  five  hundred  years  the  dates  of 
some  of  the  cardinal  events  of  European  history — 
the  invasion  of  Europe  by  the  Huns,  for  instance. 
Was  it  before  or  after  Christ*?  He  might  just  as 
well  try  to  tell  you  that  it  was  quite  enough  to 
know  that  our  Civil  War  occurred  somewhere  in 
the  nineteenth  century. 

I  have  personally  no  hesitation  in  advancing 
the  claim  that  there  are  a  few  elementary  princi 
ples  and  fundamental  facts  in  all  departments  of 
human  knowledge  which  every  person  who  expects 
to  derive  any  advantage  from  intelligent  society 
should  not  only  once  learn  but  should  forever  re 
member.  Not  to  know  them  is  practically  the 
same  thing  as  being  without  ordinary  means  of 

197 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

communication.  One  may  not  find  it  necessary 
to  remember  the  binomial  theorem  or  the  algebraic 
formula  for  the  contents  of  a  circle,  but  he  should 
at  least  have  a  formal  acquaintance  with  Julius 
Csesar,  Hannibal,  Charlemagne,  Martin  Luther, 
Francis  I,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Louis  XIV,  Na 
poleon  I — and  a  dozen  or  so  others.  An  edu 
cated  man  must  speak  the  language  of  educated 
men. 

I  do  not  think  it  too  much  to  demand  that  in 
history  he  should  have  in  mind,  at  least  approxi 
mately,  one  important  date  in  each  century  in  the 
chronicles  of  France,  England,  Italy  and  Germany. 
That  is  not  much,  but  it  is  a  good  start.  And 
shall  we  say  ten  dates  in  American  history1?  He 
should,  in  addition,  have  a  rough  working  knowl 
edge  of  the  chief  personages  who  lived  in  these 
centuries  and  were  famous  in  war,  diplomacy,  art, 
religion  and  literature.  His  one  little  date  will 
at  least  give  him  some  notion  of  the  relation 
the  events  in  one  country  bore  to  those  in  an 
other. 

I  boldly  assert  that  in  a  half  hour  you  can  learn 
198 


MY  MIND 

by  heart  all  the  essential  dates  in  American  his 
tory.  I  assume  that  you  once  knew,  and  perhaps 
still  know,  something  about  the  events  themselves 
with  which  they  are  connected.  Ten  minutes  a 
day  for  the  rest  of  the  week  and  you  will  have 
them  at  your  fingers'  ends.  It  is  no  trick  at  all. 
It  is  as  easy  as  learning  the  names  of  the  more  im 
portant  parts  of  the  mechanism  of  your  motor. 
There  is  nothing  impossible  or  difficult,  or  even 
tedious,  about  it;  but  it  seems  Herculean  because 
you  have  never  taken  the  trouble  to  try  to  remem 
ber  anything.  It  is  the  same  attitude  that  renders 
it  almost  physically  painful  for  one  of  us  to  read 
over  the  scenario  of  an  opera  or  a  column  biogra 
phy  of  its  composer  before  hearing  a  performance 
at  the  Metropolitan.  Yet  fifteen  minutes  or  half 
an  hour  invested  in  this  way  pays  about  five  hun 
dred  per  cent. 

And  the  main  thing,  after  you  have  learned  any 
thing,  is  not  to  forget  it.  Knowledge  forgotten 
is  no  knowledge  at  all.  That  is  the  trouble  with 
the  elective  system  as  usually  administered  in  our 
universities.  At  the  end  of  the  college  year  the 

199 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

student  tosses  aside  his  Elements  of  Geology  and 
forgets  everything  between  its  covers.  What  he 
has  learned  should  be  made  the  basis  for  other  and 
more  detailed  knowledge.  The  instructor  should 
go  on  building  a  superstructure  on  the  foundation 
he  has  laid,  and  at  the  end  of  his  course  the  as 
pirant  for  a  diploma  should  be  required  to  pass 
an  examination  on  his  entire  college  work.  Had 
I  been  compelled  to  do  that,  I  should  probably  be 
able  to  tell  now — what  I  do  not  know — whether 
Melancthon  was  a  painter,  a  warrior,  a  diplomat, 
a  theologian  or  a  dramatic  poet. 

I  have  instanced  the  study  of  dates  because  they 
are  apt  to  be  the  storm  center  of  discussions  con 
cerning  education.  It  is  fashionable  to  scoff  at 
them  in  a  superior  manner.  We  all  of  us  loathe 
them;  yet  they  are  as  indispensable — a  certain 
number  of  them — as  the  bones  of  a  body.  They 
make  up  the  skeleton  of  history.  They  are  the 
orderly  pegs  on  which  we  can  hang  later  acquired 
information.  If  the  pegs  are  not  there  the  infor 
mation  will  fall  to  the  ground. 

For  example,  our  entire  conception  of  the  Refor- 
200 


MY  MIND 

mation,  or  of  any  intellectual  or  religious  move 
ment,  might  easily  turn  on  whether  it  preceded  or 
followed  the  discovery  of  printing;  and  our  men 
tal  picture  of  any  great  battle,  as  well  as  our 
opinion  of  the  strategy  of  the  opposing  armies, 
would  depend  on  whether  or  not  gunpowder  had 
been  invented  at  the  time.  Hence  the  importance 
of  a  knowledge  of  the  dates  of  the  invention  of 
printing  and  of  gunpowder  in  Europe. 

It  is  ridiculous  to  allege  that  there  is  no  min 
imum  of  education,  to  say  nothing  of  culture, 
which  should  be  required  of  every  intelligent  hu 
man  being  if  he  is  to  be  but  a  journeyman  in  so 
ciety.  In  an  unconvincing  defense  of  our  own 
ignorance  we  loudly  insist  that  detailed  knowl 
edge  of  any  subject  is  mere  pedagogy,  a  hindrance 
to  clear  thinking,  a  superfluity.  We  do  not  say 
so,  to  be  sure,  with  respect  to  knowledge  in  gen 
eral;  but  that  is  our  attitude  in  regard  to  any 
particular  subject  that  may  be  brought  up.  Yet 
to  deny  the  value  of  special  information  is 
tantamount  to  an  assertion  of  the  desirability  of 
general  ignorance.  It  is  only  the  politician  who 

201 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

can  afford  to  say:     "Wide  knowledge  is  a  fatal 
handicap  to  forcible  expression." 

This  is  not  true  of  the  older  countries.  In 
Germany,  for  instance,  a  knowledge  of  natural 
philosophy,  languages  and  history  is  insisted 
on.  To  the  German  schoolboy,  George  Wash 
ington  is  almost  as  familiar  a  character  as 
Columbus ;  but  how  many  American  children  know 
anything  of  Bismarck?  The  ordinary  educated 
foreigner  speaks  at  least  two  languages  and  usually 
three,  is  fairly  well  grounded  in  science,  and  is  per 
fectly  familiar  with  ancient  and  modern  history. 
The  American  college  graduate  seems  like  a  child 
beside  him  so  far  as  these  things  are  concerned. 

We  are  content  to  live  a  hand-to-mouth  mental 
existence  on  a  haphazard  diet  of  newspapers  and 
the  lightest  novels.  We  are  too  lazy  to  take  the 
trouble  either  to  discipline  our  minds  or  to  acquire, 
as  adults,  the  elementary  knowledge  necessary  to 
enable  us  to  read  intelligently  even  rather  super 
ficial  books  on  important  questions  vitally  affect 
ing  our  own  social,  physical,  intellectual  or  moral 
existences. 

202 


MY  MIND 

If  somebody  refers  to  Huss  or  Wyclif  ten  to 
one  we  do  not  know  of  whom  he  is  talking;  the 
same  thing  is  apt  to  be  true  about  the  draft  of 
the  hot-water  furnace  or  the  ball  and  cock  of  the 
tank  in  the  bathroom.  Inertia  and  ignorance  are 
the  handmaidens  of  futility.  Heaven  forbid  that 
we  should  let  anybody  discover  this  aridity  of  our 
minds ! 

My  wife  admits  privately  that  she  has  forgotten 
all  the  French  she  ever  knew — could  not  even 
order  a  meal  from  a  carte  de  jour;  yet  she  is  a 
never-failing  source  of  revenue  to  the  counts  and 
marquises  who  yearly  rush  over  to  New  York  to 
replenish  their  bank  accounts  by  giving  parlor  lec 
tures  in  their  native  tongue  on  Le  XIIIme  Siecle 
or  Madame  Lebrun.  No  one  would  ever  guess 
that  she  understands  no  more  than  one  word  out 
of  twenty  and  that  she  has  no  idea  whether  Tal 
leyrand  lived  in  the  fifteenth  or  the  eighteenth 
century,  or  whether  Calvin  was  a  Frenchman  or  a 
Scotchman. 

Our  clever  people  are  content  merely  with  being 
clever.  They  will  talk  Tolstoi  or  Turgenieff  with 

203 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

you,  but  they  are  quite  vague  about  Catherine  II 
or  Peter  the  Great.  They  are  up  on  D'Annuncio, 
but  not  on  Garibaldi  or  Cavour.  Our  ladies  wear 
a  false  front- of  culture,  but  they  are  quite  bald 
underneath. 

Being  educated,  however,  does  not  consist,  by 
any  means,  in  knowing  who  fought  and  won  cer 
tain  battles  or  who  wrote  the  Novum  Organum. 
It  lies  rather  in  a  knowledge  of  life  based  on  the 
experience  of  mankind.  Hence  our  study  of  his 
tory.  But  a  study  of  history  in  the  abstract  is 
valueless.  It  must  be  concrete,  real  and  living  to 
have  any  significance  for  us.  The  schoolboy  who 
learns  by  rote  imagines  the  Greeks  as  outline 
figures  of  one  dimension,  clad  in  helmets  and 
tunics,  and  brandishing  little  swords.  That  is  like 
thinking  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  as  a  suit  of  armor  or  of 
Theodore  Roosevelt  as  a  pair  of  spectacles. 

If  the  boy  is  to  gain  anything  by  his  acquaint 
ance  with  the  Greeks  he  must  know  what  they  ate 
and  drank,  how  they  amused  themselves,  what 
they  talked  about,  and  what  they  believed  as  to 

204 


MY  MIND 

the  nature  and  origin  of  the  universe  and  the  prob 
ability  of  a  future  life.  I  hold  that  it  is  as  im 
portant  to  know  how  the  Romans  told  time  as 
that  Nero  fiddled  while  his  capital  was  burning. 
William  the  Silent  was  once  just  as  much  alive 
as  P.  T.  Barnum,  and  a  great  deal  more  worth 
while.  It  is  fatal  to  regard  historical  personages 
as  lay  figures  and  not  as  human  beings. 

We  are  equally  vague  with  respect  to  the  ordi 
nary  processes  of  our  daily  lives.  I  have  not  the 
remotest  idea  of  how  to  make  a  cup  of  coffee  or  dis 
connect  the  gas  or  water  mains  in  my  own  house. 
If  my  sliding  door  sticks  I  send  for  the  carpenter, 
and  if  water  trickles  in  the  tank  I  telephone  for 
the  plumber.  I  am  a  helpless  infant  in  the  stable 
and  my  motor  is  the  creation  of  a  Frankenstein 
that  has  me  at  its  mercy.  My  wife  may  recall 
something  of  cookery — which  she  would  not  admit, 
of  course,  before  the  butler — but  my  daughters 
have  never  been  inside  a  kitchen.  None  of  my 
family  knows  anything  about  housekeeping  or  the 
prices  of  foodstuffs  or  house- furnishings.  My  coal 
and  wood  are  delivered  and  paid  for  without  my 

205 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

quiring  as  to  the  correctness  of  the  bills,  and  I 
offer  the  same  temptations  to  dishonest  tradesmen 
that  a  drunken  man  does  to  pickpockets.  Yet  I 
complain  of  the  high  cost  of  living! 

My  family  has  never  had  the  slightest  training 
in  practical  affairs.  If  we  were  cast  away  on  a 
fertile  tropical  island  we  should  be  forced  to  sub 
sist  on  bananas  and  clams,  and  clothe  ourselves 
with  leaves, — provided  the  foliage  was  ready 
made  and  came  in  regulation  sizes. 

These  things  are  vastly  more  important  from  an 
educational  point  of  view  than  a  knowledge  of  the 
relationship  of  Mary  Stuart  to  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
however  interesting  that  may  be  to  a  reader  of 
French  history  of  the  sixteenth  century.  A  knowl 
edge  of  the  composition  of  gunpowder  is  more 
valuable  than  of  Guy  Fawkes'  Gunpowder  Plot. 
If  we  know  nothing  about  household  economies 
we  can  hardly  be  expected  to  take  an  interest  in 
the  problems  of  the  proletariat.  If  we  are  igno 
rant  of  the  fundamental  data  of  sociology  and 
politics  we  can  have  no  real  opinions  on  questions 
affecting  the  welfare  of  the  people. 

206 


MY  MIND 

The  classic  phrase  "The  public  be  damned!" 
expresses  our  true  feeling  about  the  matter.  We 
cannot  become  excited  about  the  wrongs  and  hard 
ships  of  the  working  class  when  we  do  not  know 
and  do  not  care  how  they  live.  One  of  my  daugh 
ters — aged  seven — once  essayed  a  short  story,  of 
which  the  heroine  was  an  orphan  child  in  direst 
want.  It  began :  "Corinne  was  starving.  'Alas ! 
What  shall  we  do  for  food  *?'  she  asked  her  French 
nurse  as  they  entered  the  carriage  for  their  after 
noon  drive  in  the  park."  I  have  no  doubt  that 
even  to-day  this  same  young  lady  supposes  that 
there  are  porcelain  baths  in  every  tenement  house. 

I  myself  have  no  explanation  as  to  why  I  pay 
eighty  dollars  for  a  business  suit  and  my  book 
keeper  seems  to  be  equally  well  turned  out  for 
eighteen  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  That  is  essen 
tially  why  the  people  have  an  honest  and  well- 
founded  distrust  of  those  enthusiastic  society 
ladies  who  rush  into  charity  and  frantically  en 
gage  in  the  elevation  of  the  masses.  The  poor 
working  girl  is  apt  to  know  a  good  deal  more 
about  her  own  affairs  than  the  Fifth  Avenue  ma- 

207 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tron  with  an  annual  income  of  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars. 

If  I  were  doing  it  all  over  again — and  how  I 
wish  I  could! — I  should  insist  on  my  girls  being 
taught  not  only  music  and  languages  but  cooking, 
sewing,  household  economy  and  stenography. 
They  should  at  least  be  able  to  clothe  and  feed 
themselves  and  their  children  if  somebody  supplied 
them  with  the  materials,  and  to  earn  a  living  if 
the  time  came  when  they  had  to  do  it.  They 
have  now  no  conception  of  the  relative  values  of 
even  material  things,  what  the  things  are  made  of 
or  how  they  are  put  together.  For  them  hats, 
shoes,  French  novels  and  roast  chicken  can  be 
picked  off  the  trees. 

This  utter  ignorance  of  actual  life  not  only 
keeps  us  at  a  distance  from  the  people  of  our  own 
time  but  renders  our  ideas  of  history  equally  vague, 
abstract  and  unprofitable.  I  believe  it  would  be 
an  excellent  thing  if,  beginning  with  the  age  of 
about  ten  years,  no  child  were  allowed  to  eat  any 
thing  until  he  was  able  to  tell  where  it  was  pro- 

208 


MY  MIND 

duced,  what  it  cost  and  how  it  was  prepared.  If 
this  were  carried  out  in  every  department  of  the 
child's  existence  he  would  have  small  need  of  the 
superficial  education  furnished  by  most  of  our  in 
stitutions  of  learning.  Our  children  are  taught 
about  the  famines  of  history  when  they  cannot  rec 
ognize  a  blade  of  wheat  or  tell  the  price  of  a  loaf 
of  bread,  or  how  it  is  made. 

I  would  begin  the  education  of  my  boy — him 
of  the  tango  and  balkline  billiards — with  a  study 
of  himself,  in  the  broad  use  of  the  term,  before  I 
allowed  him  to  study  about  other  people  or  the  his 
tory  of  nations.  I  would  seat  him  in  a  chair  by 
the  fire  and  begin  with  his  feet.  I  would  inquire 
what  he  knew  about  his  shoes — what  they  were 
made  of,  where  the  substance  came  from,  the  cost 
of  its  production,  the  duty  on  leather,  the  process 
of  manufacture,  the  method  of  transportation  of 
goods,  freight  rates,  retailing,  wages,  repairs,  how 
shoes  were  polished — this  would  begin,  if  desired, 
a  new  line  of  inquiry  as  to  the  composition  of  said 
polish,  cost,  and  so  on — comparative  durability  of 
hand  and  machine  work,  introduction  of  machines 

209 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

into  England  and  its  effect  on  industrial  condi 
tions.  I  say  I  would  do  all  this;  but,  of  course,  I 
could  not.  I  would  have  to  be  an  educated  man 
in  the  first  place.  Why,  beginning  with  that 
dusty  little  pair  of  shoes,  my  boy  and  I  might  soon 
be  deep  in  Interstate  Commerce  and  the  Theory  of 
Malthus — on  familiar  terms  with  Thomas  A.  Edi 
son  and  Henry  George ! 

And  the  next  time  my  son  read  about  a  Tam 
many  politician  giving  away  a  pair  of  shoes  to 
each  of  his  adherents  it  would  mean  something  to 
him — as  much  as  any  other  master  stroke  of  diplo 
macy. 

I  would  instruct  every  boy  in  a  practical  knowl 
edge  of  the  house  in  which  he  lives,  give  him  a 
familiarity  with  simple  tools  and  a  knowledge  of 
how  to  make  small  repairs  and  to  tinker  with  the 
water  pipes.  I  would  teach  him  all  those  things  I 
now  do  not  know  myself — where  the  homeless  man 
can  find  a  night's  lodging;  how  to  get  a  disorderly 
person  arrested;  why  bottled  milk  costs  fifteen 
cents  a  quart;  how  one  gets  his  name  on  the  ballot 
if  he  wants  to  run  for  alderman;  where  the  Health 

210 


MY  MIND 

Department  is  located,  and  how  to  get  vaccinated 
for  nothing. 

By  the  time  we  had  finished  we  would  be  in  a 
position  to  understand  the  various  editorials  in 
the  morning  papers  which  now  we  do  not  read. 
Far  more  than  that,  my  son  would  be  brought  to 
a  realization  that  everything  in  the  world  is  full 
of  interest  for  the  man  who  has  the  knowledge  to 
appreciate  its  significance.  "A  primrose  by  a 
river's  brim"  should  be  no  more  suggestive,  even 
to  a  lake-poet,  than  a  Persian  rug  or  a  rubber  shoe. 
Instead  of  the  rug  he  will  have  a  vision  of  the 
patient  Afghan  in  his  mountain  village  working 
for  years  with  unrequited  industry;  instead  of  the 
shoe  he  will  see  King  Leopold  and  hear  the  lamen 
tations  of  the  Congo. 

My  ignorance  of  everything  beyond  my  own 
private  bank  account  and  stomach  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  I  have  selfishly  and  foolishly  regarded 
these  two  departments  as  the  most  important  fea 
tures  of  my  existence.  I  now  find  that  my  finan 
cial  and  gastronomical  satisfaction  has  been 
purchased  at  the  cost  of  an  infinite  delight 

211 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

in  other  things.  I  am  mentally  out  of  condi 
tion. 

Apart  from  this  brake  on  the  wheel  of  my  intel 
ligence,  however,  I  suffer  an  even  greater  impedi 
ment  by  reason  of  the  fact  that,  never  having  ac 
quired  a  thorough  groundwork  of  elementary 
knowledge,  I  find  I  cannot  read  with  either  pleas 
ure  or  profit.  Most  adult  essays  or  histories  pre 
suppose  some  such  foundation. 

Recently  I  have  begun  to  buy  primers — such 
as  are  used  in  the  elementary  schools — in  order  to 
acquire  the  information  that  should  have  been 
mine  at  twenty  years  of  age.  And  I  have  resolved 
that  in  my  daily  reading  of  the  newspapers  I  will 
endeavor  to  look  up  on  the  map  and  remember  the 
various  places  concerning  which  I  read  any  news 
item  of  importance,  and  to  assimilate  the  facts 
themselves.  It  is  my  intention  also  to  study,  at 
least  half  an  hour  each  day,  some  simple 
treatise  on  science,  politics,  art,  letters  or  history. 
In  this  way  I  hope  to  regain  some  of  my  interest 
in  the  activities  of  mankind.  If  I  cannot  do  this 
I  realize  now  that  it  will  go  hard  with  me  in  the 

212 


MY  MIND 

years  that  are  drawing  nigh.     I  shall,  indeed,  then 
lament  that  "I  have  no  pleasure  in  them." 

It  is  the  common  practice  of  business  men  'to 
say  that  when  they  reach  a  certain  age  they  are 
going  to  quit  work  and  enjoy  themselves.  How 
this  enjoyment  is  proposed  to  be  attained  varies 
in  the  individual  case.  One  man  intends  to  travel 
or  live  abroad — usually,  he  believes,  in  Paris. 
Another  is  going  into  ranching  or  farming.  Still 
another  expects  to  give  himself  up  to  art,  music 
and  books.  We  all  have  visions  of  the  time  when 
we  shall  no  longer  have  to  go  downtown  every  day 
and  can  indulge  in  those  pleasures  that  are  now 
beyond  our  reach. 

Unfortunately  the  experience  of  humanity  dem 
onstrates  the  inevitability  of  the  law  of  Nature 
which  prescribes  that  after  a  certain  age  it  is  prac 
tically  impossible  to  change  our  habits,  either  of 
work  or  of  play,  without  physical  and  mental 
misery. 

Most  of  us  take  some  form  of  exercise  through 
out  our  lives — riding,  tennis,  golf  or  walking. 

213 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

This  we  can  continue  to  enjoy  in  moderation  after 
our  more  strenuous  days  are  over;  but  the  manu 
facturer,  stock  broker  or  lawyer  who  thinks  that 
after  his  sixtieth  birthday  he  is  going  to  be  able  to 
find  permanent  happiness  on  a  farm,  loafing  round 
Paris  or  reading  in  his  library  will  be  sadly  disap 
pointed.  His  habit  of  work  will  drive  him  back, 
after  a  year  or  so  of  wretchedness,  to  the  factory, 
the  ticker  or  the  law  office;  and  his  habit  of  play 
will  send  him  as  usual  to  the  races,  the  club  or 
the  variety  show. 

One  cannot  acquire  an  interest  by  mere  volition. 
It  is  a  matter  of  training  and  of  years.  The 
pleasures  of  to-day  will  eventually  prove  to  be  the 
pleasures  of  our  old  age — provided  they  continue 
to  be  pleasures  at  all,  which  is  more  than  doubtful. 

As  we  lose  the  capacity  for  hard  work  we  shall 
find  that  we  need  something  to  take  its  place — 
something  more  substantial  and  less  unsatisfac 
tory  than  sitting  in  the  club  window  or  taking  in 
the  Broadway  shows.  But,  at  least,  the  seeds  of 
these  interests  must  be  sown  now  if  we  expect  to 
gather  a  harvest  this  side  of  the  grave. 

214 


MY  MIND 

What  is  more  natural  than  to  believe  that  in 
our  declining  years  we  shall  avail  ourselves  of  the 
world's  choicest  literature  and  pass  at  least  a  sub 
stantial  portion  of  our  days  in  the  delightful  com 
panionship  of  the  wisest  and  wittiest  of  mankind? 
That  would  seem  to  be  one  of  the  happiest  uses 
to  which  good  books  could  be  put;  but  the  hope  is 
vain.  The  fellow  who  does  not  read  at  fifty  will 
take  no  pleasure  in  books  at  seventy. 

My  club  is  full  of  dozens  of  melancholy  exam 
ples  of  men  who  have  forgotten  how  to  read. 
They  have  spent  their  entire  lives  perfecting  the 
purely  mechanical  aspects  of  their  existences. 
The  mind  has  practically  ceased  to  exist,  so  far 
as  they  are  concerned.  They  have  built  marvelous 
mansions,  where  every  comfort  is  instantly  fur 
nished  by  contrivances  as  complicated  and  accurate 
as  the  machinery  of  a  modern  warship.  The  doors 
and  windows  open  and  close,  the  lights  are  turned 
on  and  off,  and  the  elevator  stops — all  automatic 
ally.  If  the  temperature  of  a  room  rises  above  a 
certain  degree  the  heating  apparatus  shuts  itself 
off;  if  it  drops  too  low  something  else  happens  to 

215 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

put  it  right  again.  The  servants  are  swift,  silent 
and  decorous.  The  food  is  perfection.  Their 
motors  glide  noiselessly  to  and  fro.  Their  es 
tablishments  run  like  fine  watches. 

They  have  had  to  make  money  to  achieve  this 
mechanical  perfection;  they  have  had  no  time  for 
anything  else  during  their  active  years.  And,  now 
that  those  years  are  over,  they  have  nothing  to  do. 
Their  minds  are  almost  as  undeveloped  as  those 
of  professional  pugilists.  Dinners  and  drinks, 
backgammon  and  billiards,  the  lightest  opera,  the 
trashiest  novels,  the  most  sensational  melodrama 
are  the  most  elevating  of  their  leisure's  activities. 
Read?  Hunt?  Farm?  Not  much!  They  sit 
behind  the  plate-glass  windows  and  bet  on  whether 
more  limousines  will  go  north  than  south  in  the 
next  ten  minutes. 

If  you  should  ask  one  of  them  whether  he  had 
read  some  book  that  was  exciting  discussion  among 
educated  people  at  the  moment,  he  would  probably 
look  at  you  blankly  and,  after  remarking  that  he 
had  never  cared  for  economics  or  history — as  the 
case  might  be — inquire  whether  you  preferred  a 

216 


MY  MIND 

"Blossom"  or  a  "Tornado."  Poor  vacuous  old 
cocks !  They  might  be  having  a  green  and  hearty 
old  age,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  the  choicest 
spirits  of  all  time. 

Upstairs  in  the  library  there  are  easy-chairs 
within  arm's  reach  of  the  best  fellows  who  ever 
lived — adventurers,  story-tellers,  novelists,  ex 
plorers,  historians,  rhymers,  fighters,  essayists, 
vagabonds  and  general  liars — Immortals,  all  of 
them. 

You  can  take  your  pick  and  if  he  bores  you  send 
him  packing  without  a  word  of  apology.  They 
are  good  friends  to  grow  old  with — friends  who 
in  hours  of  weariness,  of  depression  or  of  gladness 
may  be  summoned  at  will  by  those  of  us  who  be 
long  to  the  Brotherhood  of  Educated  Men — of 
which,  alas !  I  and  my  associates  are  no  longer 
members. 


217 


CHAPTER  V 

MY    MORALS 

THE  concrete  evidence  of  my  success  as  repre 
sented  by  my  accumulated  capital — outside 
of  my  uptown  dwelling  house — amounts,  as  I 
have  previously  said,  to  about  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  This  is  invested  princi 
pally  in  railroad  and  mining  stocks,  both  of  which 
are  subject  to  considerable  fluctuation;  and  I  have 
also  substantial  holdings  in  industrial  corpora 
tions.  Some  of  these  companies  I  represent  pro 
fessionally.  As  a  whole,  however,  my  investments 
may  be  regarded  as  fairly  conservative.  At  any 
rate  they  cause  me  little  uneasiness. 

My  professional  income  is  regular  and  comes 
with  surprisingly  little  effort.  I  have  as  clients 
six  manufacturing  corporations  that  pay  me  re 
tainers  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  each,  be 
sides  my  regular  fees  for  services  rendered.  I  also 
represent  two  banks  and  a  trust  company. 

218 


MY  MORALS 

All  this  is  fixed  business  and  most  of  it  is  at 
tended  to  by  younger  men,  whom  I  employ  at 
moderate  salaries.  I  do  almost  no  detail  work 
myself,  and  my  junior  partners  relieve  me  of  the 
drawing  of  even  important  papers;  so  that,  though 
I  am  constantly  at  my  office,  my  time  is  spent  in 
advising  and  consulting. 

I  dictate  all  my  letters  and  rarely  take  a  pen  in 
my  hand.  Writing  has  become  laborious  and  irk 
some.  I  even  sign  my  correspondence  with  an 
ingenious  rubber  stamp  that  imitates  my  scrawling 
signature  beyond  discovery.  If  I  wish  to  know 
the  law  on  some  given  point  I  press  a  button  and 
tell  my  managing  clerk  what  I  want.  In  an  hour 
or  two  he  hands  me  the  authorities  covering  the 
issue  in  question  in  typewritten  form.  It  is  ex 
traordinarily  simple  and  easy.  Yet  only  yester 
day  I  heard  of  a  middle-aged  man,  whom  I  knew 
to  be  a  peculiarly  well-equipped  all-round  lawyer, 
who  was  ready  to  give  up  his  private  practice  and 
take  a  place  in  any  reputable  office  at  a  salary  of 
thirty-five  hundred  dollars! 

Most  of  my  own  time  is  spent  in  untangling 
219 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

mixed  puzzles  of  law  and  fact,  and  my  clients  are 
comparatively  few  in  number,  though  their  inter 
ests  are  large.  Thus  I  see  the  same  faces  over  and 
over  again.  I  lunch  daily  at  a  most  respectable 
eating  club;  and  here,  too,  I  meet  the  same  men 
over  and  over  again.  I  rarely  make  a  new  ac 
quaintance  downtown;  in  fact  I  rarely  leave  my 
office  during  the  day.  If  I  need  to  confer  with 
any  other  attorney  I  telephone.  There  are  dozens 
of  lawyers  in  New  York  whose  voices  I  know  well 
— yet  whose  faces  I  have  never  seen. 

My  office  is  on  the  nineteenth  floor  of  a  white 
marble  building,  and  I  can  look  down  the  harbor 
to  the  south  and  up  the  Hudson  to  the  north.  I 
sit  there  in  my  window  like  a  cliffdweller  at  the 
mouth  of  his  cave.  When  I  walk  along  Wall 
Street  I  can  look  up  at  many  other  hundreds  of 
these  caves,  each  with  its  human  occupant.  We 
leave  our  houses  uptown,  clamber  down  into  a 
tunnel  called  the  Subway,  are  shot  five  miles  or 
so  through  the  earth,  and  debouch  into  an  ele 
vator  that  rushes  us  up  to  our  caves.  Only  be 
tween  my  house  and  the  entrance  to  the  Subway 

220 


MY  MORALS 

am  I  obliged  to  step  into  the  open  air  at  all.  A 
curious  life !  And  I  sit  in  my  chair  and  talk  to 
people  in  multitudes  of  other  caves  near  by,  or 
caves  in  New  Jersey,  Washington  or  Chicago. 

Louis  XI  used  to  be  called  "the  human  spider" 
by  reason  of  his  industry,  but  we  modern  office 
men  are  far  more  like  human  spiders  than  he,  as 
we  sit  in  the  center  of  our  webs  of  invisible  wires. 
We  wait  and  wait,  and  our  lines  run  out  across 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land — sometimes 
getting  tangled,  to  be  sure,  so  that  it  is  frequently 
difficult  to  decide  just  which  spider  owns  the  web; 
but  we  sit  patiently  doing  nothing  save  devising 
the  throwing  out  of  other  lines. 

We  weave,  but  we  do  not  build ;  we  manipulate, 
buy,  sell  and  lend,  quarrel  over  the  proceeds,  and 
cover  the  world  with  our  nets,  while  the  ants  and 
the  bees  of  mankind  labor,  construct  and  manu 
facture,  and  struggle  to  harness  the  forces  of  Na 
ture.  We  plan  and  others  execute.  We  dicker, 
arrange,  consult,  cajole,  bribe,  pull  our  wires  and 
extort;  but  we  do  it  all  in  one  place — the  center 
of  our  webs  and  the  webs  are  woven  in  our  caves. 

221 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

I  figure  that  I  spend  about  six  hours  each 
day  in  my  office;  that  I  sleep  nearly  nine  hours; 
that  I  am  in  transit  on  surface  cars  and  in  subways 
at  least  one  hour  and  a  half  more;  that  I  occupy 
another  hour  and  a  half  in  bathing,  shaving  and 
dressing,  and  an  hour  lunching  at  midday.  This 
leaves  a  margin  of  five  hours  a  day  for  all  other 
activities. 

Could  even  a  small  portion  of  this  time  be  spent 
consecutively  in  reading  in  the  evening,  I  could 
keep  pace  with  current  thought  and  literature  much 
better  than  I  do;  or  if  I  spent  it  with  my  son  and 
daughters  I  should  know  considerably  more  about 
them  than  I  do  now,  which  is  practically  nothing. 
But  the  fact  is  that  every  evening  from  the  first 
of  November  to  the  first  of  May  the  motor  comes 
to  the  door  at  five  minutes  to  eight  and  my  wife 
and  I  are  whirled  up  or  down  town  to  a  dinner 
party — that  is,  save  on  those  occasions  when  eight 
een  or  twenty  people  are  whirled  to  us. 

This  short  recital  of  my  daily  activities  is  suffi 
cient  to  demonstrate  that  I  lead  an  exceedingly 

222 


MY  MORALS 

narrow  and  limited  existence.  I  do  not  know  any 
poor  men,  and  even  the  charities  in  which  I  am 
nominally  interested  are  managed  by  little  groups 
of  rich  ones.  The  truth  is,  I  learned  thirty  years 
ago  that  if  one  wants  to  make  money  one  must 
go  where  money  is  and  cultivate  the  people  who 
have  it.  I  have  no  petty  legal  business — there  is 
nothing  in  it.  If  I  cannot  have  millionaires  for 
clients  I  do  not  want  any.  The  old  idea  that  the 
young  country  lawyer  could  shove  a  pair  of  socks 
into  his  carpetbag,  come  to  the  great  city,  hang 
out  his  shingle  and  build  up  a  practice  has  long 
since  been  completely  exploded.  The  best  he  can 
do  now  is  to  find  a  clerkship  at  twelve  hundred 
dollars  a  year. 

Big  business  gravitates  to  the  big  offices;  and 
when  the  big  firms  look  round  for  junior  partners 
they  do  not  choose  the  struggling  though  brilliant 
young  attorney  from  the  country,  no  matter  how 
large  his  general  practice  may  have  become;  but 
they  go  after  the  youth  whose  father  is  a  director 
in  forty  corporations  or  the  president  of  a  trust. 

In  the  same  way  what  time  I  have  at  my  dis- 
223 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

posal  to  cultivate  new  acquaintances  I  devote  not 
to  the  merely  rich  and  prosperous  but  to  the  multi 
millionaire — if  I  can  find  him — who  does  not  even 
know  the  size  of  his  income.  I  have  no  time  to 
waste  on  the  man  who  is  simply  earning  enough 
to  live  quietly  and  educate  his  family.  He  can 
not  throw  anything  worth  while  in  my  direction; 
but  a  single  crumb  from  the  magnate's  table  may 
net  me  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  dollars.  Thus, 
not  only  for  social  but  for  business  reasons,  suc 
cessful  men  affiliate  habitually  only  with  rich  peo 
ple.  I  concede  that  is  a  rather  sordid  admission, 
but  it  is  none  the  less  the  truth. 

Money  is  the  symbol  of  success;  it  is  what  we 
are  all  striving  to  get,  and  we  naturally  select  the 
ways  and  means  best  adapted  for  the  purpose. 
One  of  the  simplest  is  to  get  as  near  it  as  possible 
and  stay  there.  If  I  make  a  friend  of  a  struggling 
doctor  or  professor  he  may  invite  me  to  draw  his 
will,  which  I  shall  either  have  to  do  for  nothing 
or  else  charge  him  fifty  dollars  for;  but  the  rail 
road  president  with  whom  I  often  lunch,  and  who 
is  just  as  agreeable  personally,  may  perhaps  ask 

224 


MY  MORALS 

me  to  reorganize  a  railroad.  I  submit  that,  selfish 
as  it  all  seems  when  I  write  it  down,  it  would  be 
hard  to  do  otherwise. 

I  do  not  deliberately  examine  each  new  candi 
date  for  my  friendship  and  select  or  reject  him 
in  accordance  with  a  financial  test;  but  what  I  do 
is  to  lead  a  social  and  business  life  that  will 
constantly  throw  me  only  with  rich  and  power 
ful  men.  I  join  only  rich  men's  clubs;  I  go  to 
resorts  in  the  summer  frequented  only  by  rich  peo 
ple;  and  I  play  only  with  those  who  can,  if  they 
will,  be  of  advantage  to  me.  I  do  not  do  this 
deliberately;  I  do  it  instinctively — now.  I  sup 
pose  at  one  time  it  was  deliberate  enough,  but 
to-day  it  comes  as  natural  as  using  my  automo 
bile  instead  of  a  street  car. 

We  have  heard  a  great  deal  recently  about  a 
so-called  Money  Trust.  The  truth  of  the  matter 
is  that  the  Money  Trust  is  something  vastly 
greater  than  any  mere  aggregation  of  banks;  it 
consists  in  our  fundamental  trust  in  money.  It  is 
based  on  our  instinctive  and  ineradicable  belief 
that  money  rules  the  destinies  of  mankind. 

225 


Everything  is  estimated  by  us  in  money.  A 
man  is  worth  so  and  so  much — in  dollars.  The 
millionaire  takes  precedence  of  everybody,  except 
at  the  White  House.  The  rich  have  things  their 
own  way — and  every  one  knows  it.  Ashamed  of 
it?  Not  at  all.  We  are  the  greatest  snobs  in 
the  civilized  world,  and  frankly  so.  We  worship 
wealth  because  at  present  we  desire  only  the  things 
wealth  can  buy. 

The  sea,  the  sky,  the  mountains,  the  clear  air 
of  autumn,  the  simple  sports  and  amusements  of 
our  youth  and  of  the  comparatively  poor,  pleasures 
in  books,  in  birds,  in  trees  and  flowers,  are  disre 
garded  for  the  fierce  joys  of  acquisition,  of  the 
ownership  in  stocks  and  bonds,  or  for  the  no  less 
keen  delight  in  the  display  of  our  own  financial 
superiority  over  our  fellows. 

We  know  that  money  is  the  key  to  the  door  of 
society.  Without  it  our  sons  will  not  get  into  the 
polo-playing  set  or  our  daughters  figure  in  the 
Sunday  supplements.  We  want  money  to  buy 
ourselves  a  position  and  to  maintain  it  after  we 


have  bought  it. 


226 


MY  MORALS 

We  want  houses  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  street, 
with  fagades  of  graven  marble;  we  want  servants 
in  livery  and  in  buttons — or  in  powder  and 
breeches  if  possible;  we  want  French  chefs  and 
the  best  wine  and  tobacco,  twenty  people  to  din 
ner  on  an  hour's  notice,  supper  parties  and  a  little 
dance  afterward  at  Sherry's  or  Delmonico's,  a 
box  at  the  opera  and  for  first  nights  at  the  theaters, 
two  men  in  livery  for  our  motors,  yachts  and  thir 
ty-footers,  shooting  boxes  in  South  Carolina,  sal 
mon  water  in  New  Brunswick,  and  regular  vaca 
tions,  besides,  at  Hot  Springs,  Aiken  and  Palm 
Beach ;  we  want  money  to  throw  away  freely  and 
like  gentlemen  at  Canfield's,  Bradley's  and  Monte 
Carlo;  we  want  clubs,  country  houses,  saddle- 
horses,  fine  clothes  and  gorgeously  dressed  women ; 
we  want  leisure  and  laughter,  and  a  trip  or  so  to 
Europe  every  year,  our  names  at  the  top  of  the  so 
ciety  column,  a  smile  from  the  grand  dame  in  the 
tiara  and  a  seat  at  her  dinner  table — these  are  the 
things  we  want,  and  since  we  cannot  have  them 
without  money  we  go  after  the  money  first,  as  the 
sine  qua  non. 

227 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

We  want  these  things  for  ourselves  and  we  want 
them  for  our  children.  We  hope  our  grandchil 
dren  will  have  them  also,  though  about  that  we 
do  not  care  so  much.  We  want  ease  and  security 
and  the  relief  of  not  thinking  whether  we  can 
afford  to  do  things.  We  want  to  be  lords  of 
creation  and  to  pass  creation  on  to  our  descendants, 
exactly  as  did  the  nobility  of  the  Ancien  Regime. 

At  the  present  time  money  will  buy  anything, 
from  a  place  in  the  vestry  of  a  swell  church  to  a 
seat  in  the  United  States  Senate — an  election  to 
Congress,  a  judgeship,  or  a  post  in  the  diplomatic 
service.  It  will  buy  the  favor  of  the  old  families 
or  a  decision  in  the  courts.  Money  is  the  con 
trolling  factor  in  municipal  politics  in  New  York. 
The  moneyed  group  of  Wall  Street  wants  an 
amenable  mayor — a  Tammany  mayor  preferred — 
so  that  it  can  put  through  its  contracts.  You  al 
ways  know  where  to  find  a  regular  politician. 
One  always  knew  where  to  find  Dick  Croker.  So 
the  Traction  people  pour  the  contents  of  their 
coffers  into  the  campaign  bags. 

Until  very  recently  the  Supreme  Court  judges 
228 


MY  MORALS 

of  New  York  County  bought  their  positions  by 
making  substantial  contributions  to  the  Tammany 
treasury.  The  inferior  judgeships  went  con 
siderably  cheaper.  A  man  who  stood  in  with  the 
Big  Boss  might  get  a  bargain.  I  have  done  busi 
ness  with  politicians  all  my  life  and  I  have  never 
found  it  necessary  to  mince  my  words.  If  I 
wanted  a  favor  I  always  asked  exactly  what  it 
was  going  to  cost — and  I  always  got  the  favor. 

No  one  needs  to  hunt  very  far  for  cases  where 
the  power  of  money  has  influenced  the  bench  in 
recent  times.  The  rich  man  can  buy  his  son 
a  place  in  any  corporation  or  manufacturing  com 
pany.  The  young  man  may  go  in  at  the  bottom, 
but  he  will  shoot  up  to  the  top  in  a  year  or  two, 
with  surprising  agility,  over  the  heads  of  a  couple 
of  thousand  other  and  better  men.  The  rich  man 
can  defy  the  law  and  scoff  at  justice;  while  the 
poor  man,  who  cannot  pay  lawyers  for  delay,  goes 
to  prison.  These  are  the  veriest  platitudes  of 
demagogy,  but  they  are  true — absolutely  and  un 
deniably  true. 

We  know  all  this  and  we  act  accordingly,  and 
229 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

our  children  imbibe  a  like  knowledge  with  their 
mother's  or  whatever  other  properly  sterilized 
milk  we  give  them  as  a  substitute.  We,  they  and 
everybody  else  know  that  if  enough  money  can 
be  accumulated  the  possessor  will  be  on  Easy 
Street  for  the  rest  of  his  life — not  merely  the  Easy 
Street  of  luxury  and  comfort,  but  of  security,  privi 
lege  and  power;  and  because  we  like  Easy  Street 
rather  than  the  Narrow  Path  we  devote  ourselves 
to  getting  there  in  the  quickest  possible  way. 

We  take  no  chances  on  getting  our  reward  in 
the  next  world.  We  want  it  here  and  now,  while 
we  are  sure  of  it — on  Broadway,  at  Newport  or 
in  Paris.  We  do  not  fool  ourselves  any  longer 
into  thinking  that  by  self-sacrifice  here  we  shall 
win  happiness  in  the  hereafter.  That  is  all  right 
for  the  poor,  wretched  and  disgruntled.  Even  the 
clergy  are  prone  to  find  heaven  and  hell  in  this 
world  rather  than  in  the  life  after  death;  and  the 
decay  of  faith  leads  us  to  feel  that  a  purse  of  gold 
in  the  hand  is  better  than  a  crown  of  the  same 
metal  in  the  by  and  by.  We  are  after  happiness, 
and  to  most  of  us  money  spells  it. 

230 


MY  MORALS 

The  man  of  wealth  is  protected  on  every  side 
from  the  dangers  that  beset  the  poor.  He  can 
buy  health  and  immunity  from  anxiety,  and  he 
can  install  his  children  in  the  same  impregnable 
position.  The  dust  of  his  motor  chokes  the  citi 
zen  trudging  home  from  work.  He  soars  through 
life  on  a  cushioned  seat,  with  shock  absorbers  to 
alleviate  all  the  bumps.  No  wonder  we  trust  in 
money!  We  worship  the  golden  calf  far  more 
than  ever  did  the  Israelites  beneath  the  crags  of 
Sinai.  The  real  Money  Trust  is  the  tacit  con 
spiracy  by  which  those  who  have  the  money  en 
deavor  to  hang  on  to  it  and  keep  it  among  them 
selves.  Neither  at  the  present  time  do  great 
fortunes  tend  to  dissolve  as  inevitably  as  formerly. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  somewhere  analyzes 
the  rapid  disintegration  of  the  substantial  fortunes 
of  his  day  and  shows  how  it  is,  in  fact,  but  "three 
generations  from  shirtsleeves  to  shirtsleeves."  A 
fortune  of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  divided 
among  four  children,  each  of  whose  share  is  di 
vided  among  four  grandchildren,  becomes  prac 
tically  nothing  at  all — in  only  two.  But  could 

231 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  good  doctor  have  observed  the  tendencies  of 
to-day  he  would  have  commented  on  a  new  phe 
nomenon,  which  almost  counteracts  the  other. 

It  may  be,  and  probably  is,  the  fact  that  com 
paratively  small  fortunes  still  tend  to  disintegrate. 
This  was  certainly  the  rule  during  the  first  half  of 
the  nineteenth  century  in  New  England,  when 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  distinctly  moneyed 
class,  and  when  the  millionaire  was  a  creature  only 
of  romance.  But  when,  as  to-day,  fortunes  are  so 
large  that  it  is  impossible  to  spend  or  even  success 
fully  give  away  the  income  from  them,  a  new  ele 
ment  is  introduced  that  did  not  exist  when  Doctor 
Holmes  used  to  meditate  in  his  study  on  the  Back 
Bay  overlooking  the  placid  Charles. 

At  the  present  time  big  fortunes  are  apt  to  gain 
by  mere  accretion  what  they  lose  by  division;  and 
the  owner  of  great  wealth  has  opportunities  for 
investment  undreamed  of  by  the  ordinary  citizen 
who  must  be  content  with  interest  at  four  per  cent 
and  no  unearned  increment  on  his  capital.  This 
fact  might  of  itself  negative  the  tendency  of  which 
he  speaks;  but  there  is  a  much  more  potent  force 

232 


MY  MORALS 

working  against  it  as  well.  That  is  the  absolute 
necessity,  induced  by  the  demands  of  modern 
metropolitan  life,  of  keeping  a  big  fortune  to 
gether — or,  if  it  must  be  divided,  of  rehabilitating 
it  by  marriage. 

There  was  a  time  not  very  long  ago  when  one 
rarely  heard  of  a  young  man  or  young  woman  of 
great  wealth  marrying  anybody  with  an  equal  for 
tune.  To  do  so  was  regarded  with  disapproval, 
and  still  is  in  some  communities.  To-day  it  is 
the  rule  instead  of  the  exception.  Now  we  habit 
ually  speak  in  America  of  the  "alliances  of  great 
families."  There  are  two  reasons  for  this — first, 
that  being  a  multimillionaire  is  becoming,  as  it 
were,  a  sort  of  recognized  profession,  having  its 
own  sports,  its  own  methods  of  business  and  its 
own  interests;  second,  that  the  luxury  of  to-day 
is  so  enervating  and  insidious  that  a  girl  or  youth 
reared  in  what  is  called  society  cannot  be  com 
fortable,  much  less  happy,  on  the  income  of  less 
than  a  couple  of  million  dollars. 

As  seems  to  be  demonstrated  by  the  table  of 
my  own  modest  expenditure  in  a  preceding  article, 

233 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  income  of  but  a  million  dollars  will  not  sup 
port  any  ordinary  New  York  family  in  anything 
like  the  luxury  to  which  the  majority  of  our  young 
people — even  the  sons  and  daughters  of  men  in 
moderate  circumstances — are  accustomed. 

Our  young  girls  are  reared  on  the  choicest  va 
rieties  of  food,  served  with  piquant  sauces  to  tempt 
their  appetites;  they  are  permitted  to  pick  and 
choose,  and  to  refuse  what  they  think  they  do  not 
like;  they  are  carried  to  and  from  their  schools, 
music  and  dancing  lessons  in  motors,  and  are 
taught  to  regard  public  conveyances  as  unhealthful 
and  inconvenient ;  they  never  walk ;  they  are  given 
clothes  only  a  trifle  less  fantastic  and  bizarre  than 
those  of  their  mothers,  and  command  the  services 
of  maids  from  their  earliest  years;  they  are  taken 
to  the  theater  and  the  hippodrome,  and  for  the 
natural  pleasures  of  childhood  are  given  the  ex 
citement  of  the  footlights  and  the  arena. 

As  they  grow  older  they  are  allowed  to  attend 
late  dances  that  necessitate  remaining  in  bed  the 
next  morning  until  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock;  they 
are  told  that  their  future  happiness  depends  on 

234 


MY  MORALS 

their  ability  to  attract  the  right  kind  of  man; 
they  are  instructed  in  every  art  save  that  of  being 
useful  members  of  society ;  and  in  the  ease,  luxury 
and  vacuity  with  which  they  are  surrounded  their 
lives  parallel  those  of  demimondaines.  Indeed, 
save  for  the  marriage  ceremony,  there  is  small 
difference  between  them.  The  social  butterfly 
flutters  to  the  millionaire  as  naturally  as  the  night 
moth  of  the  Tenderloin.  Hence  the  tendency  to 
marry  money  is  greater  than  ever  before  in  the 
history  of  civilization. 

Frugal,  thrifty  lives  are  entirely  out  of  fashion. 
The  solid,  self-respecting  class,  which  wishes  to 
associate  with  people  of  equal  means,  is  becoming 
smaller  and  smaller.  If  an  ambitious  mother  can 
not  afford  to  rent  a  cottage  at  Newport  or  Bar 
Harbor  she  takes  her  daughter  to  a  hotel  or  board 
ing  house  there,  in  the  hope  that  she  will  be  thrown 
in  contact  with  young  men  of  wealth.  The  young 
girl  in  question,  whose  father  is  perhaps  a  hard 
working  doctor  or  business  man,  at  home  lives 
simply  enough ;  but  sacrifices  are  made  to  send  her 
to  a  fashionable  school,  where  her  companions  fill 

235 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

her  ears  with  stories  of  their  motors,  trips  to  Eu 
rope,  and  the  balls  they  attend  during  the  vaca 
tions.  She  becomes  inoculated  with  the  poison  of 
social  ambition  before  she  comes  out. 

Unable  by  reason  of  the  paucity  of  the  family 
resources  to  buy  luxuries  for  herself,  she  becomes 
a  parasite  and  hanger-on  of  rich  girls.  If  she  is 
attractive  and  vivacious  so  much  the  better.  Like 
the  shopgirl  blinded  by  the  glare  of  Broad 
way,  she  flutters  round  the  drawing  rooms  and 
country  houses  of  the  ultra-rich  seeking  to  make 
a  match  that  will  put  luxury  within  her  grasp; 
but  her  chances  are  not  so  good  as  formerly. 

To-day  the  number  of  large  fortunes  has  in 
creased  so  rapidly  that  the  wealthy  young  man  has 
no  difficulty  in  choosing  an  equally  wealthy  mate 
whose  mental  and  physical  attractions  appear,  and 
doubtless  are,  quite  as  desirable  as  those  of  the 
daughter  of  poorer  parents.  The  same  instinct 
to  which  I  have  confessed  myself,  as  a  professional 
man,  is  at  work  among  our  daughters  and  sons. 
They  may  not  actually  judge  individuals  by  the 
sordid  test  of  their  ability  to  purchase  ease  and 

236 


MY  MORALS 

luxury,  but  they  take  care  to  meet  and  associate 
with  only  those  who  can  do  so. 

In  this  their  parents  are  their  ofttimes  uncon 
scious  accomplices.  The  worthy  young  man  of 
chance  acquaintance  is  not  invited  to  call — or,  if 
he  is,  is  not  pressed  to  stay  to  dinner.  "Oh,  he 
does  not  know  our  crowd!"  explains  the  girl  to 
herself.  The  crowd,  on  analysis,  will  probably 
be  found  to  contain  only  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  fathers  and  mothers  who  can  entertain  lavishly 
and  settle  a  million  or  so  on  their  offspring  at 
marriage. 

There  is  a  constant  attraction  of  wealth  for 
wealth.  Poverty  never  attracted  anything.  If 
our  children  have  money  of  their  own  that  is  a 
good  reason  to  us  why  they  should  marry  more 
money.  We  snarl  angrily  at  the  penniless  youth, 
no  matter  how  capable  and  intelligent,  who  dares 
cast  his  eyes  on  our  daughter.  We  make  it  quite 
unambiguous  that  we  have  other  plans  for  her — 
plans  that  usually  include  a  steam  yacht  and  a 
shooting  box  north  of  Inverness. 

There  is  nothing  more  vicious  than  the  com- 
237 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

monly  expressed  desire  of  parents  in  merely  mod 
erate  circumstances  to  give  their  children  what 
are  ordinarily  spoken  of  as  "opportunities."  "We 
wish  our  daughters  to  have  every  opportunity — 
the  best  opportunities,"  they  say,  meaning  an  equal 
chance  with  richer  girls  of  qualifying  themselves 
for  attracting  wealthy  men  and  of  placing  them 
selves  in  their  way.  In  reality  opportunities  for 
what"? — of  being  utterly  miserable  for  the  rest  of 
their  lives  unless  they  marry  out  of  their  own  class. 

The  desire  to  get  ahead  that  is  transmitted  from 
the  American  business  man  to  his  daughter  is  the 
source  of  untold  bitterness — for,  though  he  him 
self  may  fail  in  his  own  struggle,  he  has  never 
theless  had  the  interest  of  the  game;  but  she,  an 
old  maid,  may  linger  miserably  on,  unwilling  to 
share  the  domestic  life  of  some  young  man  more 
than  her  equal  in  every  respect. 

There  is  a  subtle  freemasonry  among  those  who 
have  to  do  with  money.  Young  men  of  family 
are  given  sinecures  in  banks  and  trust  companies, 
and  paid  many  times  the  salaries  their  services  are 
worth.  The  inconspicuous  lad  who  graduates 

238 


MY  MORALS 

from  college  the  same  year  as  one  who  comes  from 
a  socially  prominent  family  will  slave  in  a  down 
town  office  eight  hours  a  day  for  a  thousand 
dollars  a  year,  while  his  classmate  is  bowing  in  the 
ladies  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Branch — from  ten  to 
three  o'clock — at  a  salary  of  five  thousand  dol 
lars.  Why?  Because  he  knows  people  who 
have  money  and  in  one  way  or  another  may  be 
useful  sometime  to  the  president  in  a  social  way. 

The  remuneration  of  those  of  the  privileged 
class  who  do  any  work  at  all  is  on  an  entirely 
different  basis  from  that  of  those  who  need  it. 
The  poor  boy  is  kept  on  as  a  clerk,  while  the  rich 
one  is  taken  into  the  firm.  The  old  adage  says 
that  "Kissing  goes  by  favor";  and  favors,  finan 
cial  and  otherwise,  are  given  only  to  those  who  can 
offer  something  in  return.  The  tendency  to  con 
centrate  power  and  wealth  extends  even  to  the 
outer  rim  of  the  circle.  It  is  an  intangible  con 
spiracy  to  corner  the  good  things  and  send  the  poor 
away  empty.  As  I  see  it  going  on  round  me,  it  is 
a  heartless  business. 

Society  is  like  an  immense  swarm  of  black  bees 

239 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

settled  on  a  honey-pot.  The  leaders,  who  flew 
there  first,  are  at  the  top,  gorged  and  distended. 
Round,  beneath  and  on  them  crawl  thousands  of 
others  thirsting  to  feed  on  the  sweet,  liquid  gold. 
The  pot  is  covered  with  them,  layer  on  layer — 
buzzing  hungrily;  eager  to  get  as  near  as  possible 
to  the  honey,  even  if  they  may  not  taste  it.  A 
drop  falls  on  one  and  a  hundred  fly  on  him  and 
lick  it  off.  The  air  is  alive  with  those  who  are 
circling  about  waiting  for  an  advantageous  chance 
to  wedge  in  between  their  comrades.  They  will, 
with  one  accord,  sting  to  death  any  hapless  crea 
ture  who  draws  near. 

Frankly  I  should  not  be  enough  of  a  man  to 
say  these  things  if  my  identity  were  disclosed, 
however  much  they  ought  to  be  said.  Neither 
should  I  make  the  confessions  concerning  my 
own  career  that  are  to  follow;  for,  though  they 
may  evidence  a  certain  shrewdness  on  my  own 
part,  I  do  not  altogether  feel  that  they  are  to  my 
credit. 

When  my  wife  and  I  first  came  to  New  York 
240 


MY  MORALS 

our  aims  and  ideals  were  simple  enough.  I  had 
letters  to  the  head  of  a  rather  well-known  firm  on 
Wall  Street  and  soon  found  myself  its  managing 
clerk  at  one  hundred  dollars  a  month.  The  busi 
ness  transacted  in  the  office  was  big  business — 
corporation  work,  the  handling  of  large  estates, 
and  so  on.  During  three  years  I  was  practically 
in  charge  of  and  responsible  for  the  details  of 
their  litigations;  the  net  profit  divided  by  the  two 
actual  members  of  the  firm  was  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  The  gross  was  about 
one  hundred  and  eighty  thousand,  of  ,which  twenty 
thousand  went  to  defray  the  regular  office  expenses 
— including  rent,  stenographers  and  ordinary  law 
clerks — while  ten  thousand  was  divided  among 
the  three  men  who  actually  did  most  of  the  work. 
The  first  of  these  was  a  highly  trained  lawyer 
about  forty-five  years  of  age,  who  could  handle 
anything  from  a  dog-license  matter  before  a  police 
justice  to  the  argument  of  a  rebate  case  in  the 
United  States  Supreme  Court.  He  was  paid 
forty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year  and  was  glad  to 
get  it.  He  was  the  active  man  of  the  office.  The 

241 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

second  man  received  thirty-five  hundred  dollars, 
and  for  that  sum  furnished  all  the  special  knowl 
edge  needed  in  drafting  railroad  mortgages  and 
intricate  legal  documents  of  all  sorts.  The  third 
was  a  chap  of  about  thirty  who  tried  the 
smaller  cases  and  ran  the  less  important  cor 
porations. 

The  two  heads  of  the  firm  devoted  most  of  their 
time  to  mixing  with  bankers,  railroad  officials  and 
politicians,  and  spent  comparatively  little  of  it 
at  the  office ;  but  they  got  the  business — somehow. 
I  suppose  they  found  it  because  they  went  out  af 
ter  it.  It  was  doubtless  quite  legitimate.  Some 
body  must  track  down  the  game  before  the  hunter 
can  do  the  shooting.  At  any  rate  they  managed 
to  find  plenty  of  it  and  furnished  the  work  for 
the  other  lawyers  to  do. 

I  soon  made  up  my  mind  that  in  New  York 
brains  were  a  pretty  cheap  commodity.  I  was 
anxious  to  get  ahead ;  but  there  was  no  opening  in 
the  firm  and  there  were  others  ready  to  take  my 
place  the  moment  it  should  become  vacant.  I  was 
a  pretty  fair  lawyer  and  had  laid  by  in  the  bank 

242 


MY  MORALS 

nearly  a  thousand  dollars;  so  I  went  to  the  head  of 
the  firm  and  made  the  proposition  that  I  should 
work  at  the  office  each  day  until  one  o'clock  and 
be  paid  half  of  what  I  was  then  getting — that  is, 
fifty  dollars  a  month.  In  the  afternoons  an  un 
derstudy  should  sit  at  my  desk,  while  I  should  be 
free. 

I  then  suggested  that  the  firm  might  divide 
with  me  the  proceeds  of  any  business  I  should  bring 
in.  My  offer  was  accepted;  and  the  same  after 
noon  I  went  to  the  office  of  a  young  stockbroker 
I  knew  and  stayed  there  until  three  o'clock.  The 
next  day  I  did  the  same  thing,  and  the  day  after. 
I  did  not  buy  any  stocks,  but  I  made  myself  agree 
able  to  the  group  about  the  ticker  and  formed  the 
acquaintance  of  an  elderly  German,  who  was  in 
the  chewing-gum  business  and  who  amused  him 
self  playing  the  market. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  invited  me  to  lunch 
with  him  and  I  took  every  opportunity  to  impress 
him  with  my  legal  acumen.  He  had  a  lawyer  of 
his  own  already,  but  I  soon  saw  that  the  impres 
sion  I  was  making  would  have  the  effect  I  desired ; 

243 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

and  presently,  as  I  had  confidently  expected,  he 
gave  me  a  small  legal  matter  to  attend  to.  Need 
less  to  say  it  was  accomplished  with  care,  celerity 
and  success.  He  gave  me  another.  For  six 
months  I  dogged  that  old  German's  steps  every 
day  from  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  until  twelve 
at  night.  I  walked,  talked,  drank  beer  and  played 
pinocle  with  him,  sat  in  his  library  in  the  evenings, 
and  took  him  and  his  wife  to  the  theater. 

At  the  end  of  that  period  he  discharged  his  for 
mer  attorney  and  retained  me.  The  business  was 
easily  worth  thirty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and 
within  a  short  time  the  Chicle  Trust  bought  out  his 
interests  and  I  became  a  director  in  it  and  one  of 
its  attorneys. 

I  had  already  severed  my  connection  with  the 
firm  and  had  opened  an  office  of  my  own.  Among 
the  directors  in  the  trust  with  whom  I  was  thrown 
were  a  couple  of  rich  young  men  whose  fathers  had 
put  them  on  the  board  merely  for  purposes  of  rep 
resentation.  These  I  cultivated  with  the  same  as 
siduity  as  I  had  used  with  the  German.  I  spent 
my  entire  time  gunning  for  big  game.  I  went 

244 


MY  MORALS 

after  the  elephants  and  let  the  sparrows  go.  It 
was  only  a  month  or  so  before  my  acquaintance 
with  these  two  boys — for  they  were  little  else — 
had  ripened  into  friendship.  My  wife  and  I  were 
invited  to  visit  at  their  houses  and  I  was  placed  in 
contact  with  their  fathers.  From  these  I  soon 
began  to  get  business.  I  have  kept  it — kept  it  to 
myself.  I  have  no  real  partners  to  steal  it  away 
from  me. 

I  am  now  the  same  kind  of  lawyer  as  the  two 
men  who  composed  the  firm  for  which  I  slaved  at 
a  hundred  dollars  a  month.  I  find  the  work  for 
my  employees  to  do.  I  am  now  an  exploiter  of 
labor.  It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  detail  the 
steps  by  which  I  gradually  acquired  what  is  known 
as  a  gilt-edged  practice;  but  it  was  not  by  virtue  of 
my  legal  abilities,  though  they  are  as  good  as  the 
average.  I  got  it  by  putting  myself  in  the  eye  of 
rich  people  in  every  way  open  to  me.  I  even 
joined  a  fashionable  church — it  pains  me  to  write 
this — for  the  sole  purpose  of  becoming  a  member 
of  the  vestry  and  thus  meeting  on  an  intimate  foot 
ing  the  half-dozen  millionaire  merchants  who  com- 

245 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

posed  it.  One  of  them  gave  me  his  business,  made 
me  his  trustee  and  executor;  and  then  I  resigned 
from  the  vestry. 

I  always  made  myself  'persona  grata  to  those 
who  could  help  me  along,  wore  the  best  clothes  I 
could  buy,  never  associated  with  shabby  people, 
and  appeared  as  much  as  possible  in  the  company 
of  my  financial  betters.  It  was  the  easier  for  me 
to  do  this  because  my  name  was  not  Irish,  German 
or  Hebraic.  I  had  a  good  appearance,  manners 
and  an  agreeable  gloss  of  culture  and  refinement. 
I  was  tactful,  considerate,  and  tried  to  strike  a 
personal  note  in  my  intercourse  with  people  who 
were  worth  while;  in  fact  I  made  it  a  practice — 
and  still  do  so — to  send  little  mementos  to  my 
newer  acquaintances — a  book  or  some  such  trifle 
— with  a  line  expressing  my  pleasure  at  having 
met  them. 

I  know  a  considerable  number  of  doctors,  as  well 
as  lawyers,  who  have  built  up  lucrative  practices 
by  making  love  to  their  female  clients  and  pa 
tients.  That  I  never  did;  but  I  always  made  it  a 
point  to  flatter  any  women  I  took  in  to  dinner,  and 

246 


MY  MORALS 

I  am  now  the  trustee  or  business  adviser  for  at 
least  half  a  dozen  wealthy  widows  as  a  direct  con 
sequence. 

One  reason  for  my  success  is,  I  discovered  very 
early  in  the  game  that  no  woman  believes  she 
really  needs  a  lawyer.  She  consults  an  attorney 
not  for  the  purpose  of  getting  his  advice,  but  for 
sympathy  and  his  approval  of  some  course  she  has 
already  decided  on  and  perhaps  already  followed. 
A  lawyer  who  tells  a  woman  the  truth  thereby  loses 
a  client.  He  has  only  to  agree  with  her  and  com 
pliment  her  on  her  astuteness  and  sagacity  to  in 
trench  himself  forever  in  her  confidence. 

A  woman  will  do  what  she  wants  to  do — every 
time.  She  goes  to  a  lawyer  to  explain  why  she  in 
tends  to  do  it.  She  wants  to  have  a  man  about  on 
whom  she  can  put  the  blame  if  necessary,  and  is 
willing  to  pay — moderately — for  the  privilege. 
She  talks  to  a  lawyer  when  no  one  else  is  willing  to 
listen  to  her,  and  thoroughly  enjoys  herself.  He 
is  the  one  man  who — unless  he  is  a  fool — cannot 
talk  back. 

Another  fact  to  which  I  attribute  a  good  deal 
247 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

of  my  professional  eclat  is,  that  I  never  let  any  of 
my  social  friends  forget  that  I  was  a  lawyer  as 
well  as  a  good  fellow;  and  I  always  threw  a  hearty 
bluff  at  being  prosperous,  even  when  a  thousand  or 
two  was  needed  to  cover  the  overdraft  in  my  bank 
account.  It  took  me  about  ten  years  to  land  my 
self  firmly  among  the  class  to  which  I  aspired,  and 
ten  years  more  to  make  that  place  impregnable. 

To-day  we  are  regarded  as  one  of  the  older  if 
not  one  of  the  old  families  in  New  York.  I  no 
longer  have  to  lick  anybody's  boots,  and  until  I 
began  to  pen  these  memoirs  I  had  really  forgotten 
that  I  ever  had.  Things  come  my  way  now  almost 
of  themselves.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  be  on  hand 
in  my  office — cheerful,  hospitable,  with  a  good 
story  or  so  always  on  tap.  My  junior  force  does 
the  law  work.  Yet  I  challenge  anybody  to  point 
out  anything  dishonorable  in  those  tactics  by  which 
I  first  got  my  feet  on  the  lower  rungs  of  the  ladder 
of  success. 

It  may  perhaps  be  that  I  should  prefer  to  write 
down  here  the  story  of  how,  simply  by  my  assidu 
ity  and  learning,  I  acquired  such  a  reputation  for 

248 


MY  MORALS 

a  knowledge  of  the  law  that  I  was  eagerly  sought 
out  by  a  horde  of  clamoring  clients  who  forced  im 
portant  litigations  on  me.  Things  do  not  happen 
that  way  in  New  York  to-day. 

Should  a  young  man  be  blamed  for  getting  on 
by  the  easiest  way  he  can?  Life  is  too  complex; 
the  population  too  big.  People  have  no  accurate 
means  of  finding  out  who  the  really  good  lawyers 
or  doctors  are.  If  you  tell  them  you  are  at  the 
head  of  your  profession  they  are  apt  to  believe  you, 
particularly  if  you  wear  a  beard  and  are  sur 
rounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  solemnity.  Only 
a  man's  intimate  circle  knows  where  he  is  or  what 
he  is  doing  at  any  particular  time. 

I  remember  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  an  exceed 
ingly  popular  member  of  one  of  the  exclusive  Fifth 
Avenue  clubs,  and  who,  after  going  to  Europe  for 
a  short  vacation,  decided  to  remain  abroad  for  a 
couple  of  years.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  re 
turned  to  New  York  hungry  for  his  old  life  and 
almost  crazy  with  delight  at  seeing  his  former 
friends.  Entering  the  club  about  five  o'clock  he 
happened  to  observe  one  of  them  sitting  by  the 

249 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

window.  He  approached  him  enthusiastically, 
slapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  extended  his  hand 
and  cried: 

"Hello,  old  man!  It's  good  to  see  you 
again !" 

The  other  man  looked  at  him  in  a  puzzled  sort 
of  way  without  moving. 

"Hello,  yourself!"  he  remarked  languidly. 
"It 's  good  to  see  you,  all  right — but  why  make  so 
much  damned  fuss  about  it4?" 

The  next  sentence  interchanged  between  the  two 
developed  the  fact  that  he  was  totally  ignorant 
that  his  friend  had  been  away  at  all.  This  is  by 
no  means  a  fantastic  illustration.  It  happens 
every  day.  That  is  one  of  the  joys  of  living  in 
New  York.  You  can  get  drunk,  steal  a  million 
or  so,  or  run  off  with  another  man's  wife — and  no 
one  will  hear  about  it  until  you  are  ready  for  some 
thing  else.  In  such  a  community  it  is  not  extraor 
dinary  that  most  people  are  taken  at  their  face 
value.  Life  moves  at  too  rapid  a  pace  to  allow 
us  to  find  out  much  about  anybody — even  our 
friends.  One  asks  other  people  to  dinner  simply 

250 


MY  MORALS 

because  one  has  seen  them  at  somebody's  else 
house. 

I  found  it  at  first  very  difficult — in  fact  almost 
impossible — to  spur  my  wife  on  to  a  satisfactory 
cooperation  with  my  efforts  to  make  the  hand  of 
friendship  feed  the  mouth  of  business.  She  rather 
indignantly  refused  to  meet  my  chewing-gum 
client  or  call  on  his  wife.  She  said  she  preferred 
to  keep  her  self-respect  and  stay  in  the  boarding- 
house  where  we  had  resided  since  we  moved  to  the 
city;  but  I  demonstrated  to  her  by  much  argument 
that  it  was  worse  than  snobbish  not  to  be  decently 
polite  to  one's  business  friends.  It  was  not  their 
fault  if  they  were  vulgar.  One  might  even  help 
them  to  enlarge  their  lives.  Gradually  she  came 
round;  and  as  soon  as  the  old  German  had  given 
me  his  business  she  was  the  first  to  suggest  moving 
to  an  apartment  hotel  uptown. 

For  a  long  time,  however,  she  declined  to  make 
any  genuine  social  effort.  She  knew  two  or  three 
women  from  our  neighborhood  who  were  living  in 
the  city,  and  she  used  to  go  and  sit  with  them  in 
the  afternoons  and  sew  and  help  take  care  of  the 

251 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

children.  She  said  they  and  their  husbands  were 
good  enough  for  her  and  that  she  had  no  aspira 
tions  toward  society.  An  evening  at  the  theater — 
in  the  balcony — every  two  weeks  or  so,  and  a  rub 
ber  of  whist  on  Saturday  night,  with  a  chafing-dish 
supper  afterward,  was  all  the  excitement  she 
needed.  That  was  twenty-five  years  ago.  To-day 
it  is  I  who  would  put  on  the  brakes,  while  she  in 
sists  on  shoveling  soft  coal  into  the  social  furnace. 
Her  metamorphosis  was  gradual  but  complete. 
I  imagine  that  her  first  reluctance  to  essay  an  ac 
quaintance  with  society  arose  out  of  embarrassment 
and  bashfulness.  At  any  rate  she  no  sooner  dis 
covered  how  small  a  bluff  was  necessary  for  suc 
cess  than  she  easily  outdid  me  in  the  ingenuity  and 
finesse  of  her  social  strategy.  It  seemed  to  be  in 
stinctive  with  her.  She  was  always  revising  her 
calling  lists  and  cutting  out  people  who  were  no 
longer  socially  useful;  and  having  got  what  she 
could  out  of  a  new  acquaintance,  she  would  forget 
her  as  completely  as  if  she  had  never  made  her  the 
confidante  of  her  inmost  thoughts  about  other  and 
less  socially  desirable  people. 

252 


MY  MORALS 

It  seems  a  bit  cold-blooded — this  criticism  of 
one's  wife;  but  I  know  that,  however  much  of  a 
sycophant  I  may  have  been  in  my  younger  days, 
my  wife  has  outdone  me  since  then.  Pres 
ently  we  were  both  in  the  swim,  swept  off  our 
feet  by  the  current  and  carried  down  the  river  of 
success,  willy-nilly,  toward  its  mouth — to  a  safe 
haven,  I  wonder,  or  the  deluge  of  a  devouring 
cataract? 

The  methods  I  adopted  are  those  in  general  use, 
either  consciously  or  unconsciously,  among  people 
striving  for  success  in  business,  politics  or  society 
in  New  York.  It  is  a  struggle  for  existence,  pre 
cisely  like  that  which  goes  on  in  the  animal  world. 
Only  those  who  have  strength  or  cunning  survive 
to  achieve  success.  Might  makes  right  to  an  ex 
tent  little  dreamed  of  by  most  of  us.  Nobody 
dares  to  censure  or  even  mildly  criticize  one  who 
has  influence  enough  to  do  him  harm.  We  are  in 
terested  only  in  safeguarding  or  adding  to  the  pos 
sessions  we  have  already  secured.  We  are  wise 
enough  to  "play  safe."  To  antagonize  one  who 

253 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

might  assist  in  depriving  us  of  some  of  them  is 
contrary  to  the  laws  of  Nature. 

Our  thoughts  are  for  ourselves  and  our  children 
alone.  The  devil  take  everybody  else!  We  are 
safe,  warm  and  comfortable  ourselves;  we  exist 
without  actual  labor;  and  we  desire  our  offspring 
to  enjoy  the  same  ease  and  safety.  The  rest  of 
mankind  is  nothing  to  us,  except  a  few  people  it  is 
worth  our  while  to  be  kind  to — personal  servants 
and  employees.  We  should  not  hesitate  to  break 
all  ten  of  the  Commandments  rather  than  that  we 
and  our  children  should  lose  a  few  material  com 
forts.  Anything,  save  that  we  should  have  really 
to  work  for  a  living! 

There  are  essentially  two  sorts  of  work:  first — 
genuine  labor,  which  requires  all  a  man's  concen 
trated  physical  or  mental  effort ;  and  second — that 
work  which  takes  the  laborer  to  his  office  at  ten 
o'clock  and,  after  an  easy-going  administrative 
morning,  sets  him  at  liberty  at  three  or  four. 

The  officer  of  an  uptown  trust  company  or  bank 
is  apt  to  belong  to  the  latter  class.  Or  perhaps 
one  is  in  real  estate  and  does  business  at  the  dinner 

254 


MY  MORALS 

tables  of  his  friends.  He  makes  love  and  money 
at  the  same  time.  His  salary  and  commissions 
correspond  somewhat  to  the  unearned  increment  on 
the  freeholds  in  which  he  deals.  These  are  minor 
illustrations,  but  a  majority  of  the  administrative 
positions  in  our  big  corporations  carry  salaries  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  services  rendered. 

These  are  the  places  my  friends  are  all  looking 
for — for  themselves  or  their  children.  The  small 
stockholder  would  not  vote  the  president  of  his 
company  a  salary  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
a  year,  or  the  vice-president  fifty  thousand  dollars ; 
but  the  rich  man  who  controls  the  stock  is  willing 
to  give  his  brother  or  his  nephew  a  soft  snap. 
From  what  I  know  of  corporate  enterprise  in  these 
United  States,  God  save  the  minority  stockholder! 
But  we  and  our  brothers  and  sons  and  nephews 
must  live — on  Easy  Street.  We  must  be  able  to 
give  expensive  dinners  and  go  to  the  theater  and 
opera,  and  take  our  families  to  Europe — and  we 
can't  do  it  without  money. 

We  must  be  able  to  keep  up  our  end  without 
working  too  hard,  to  be  safe  and  warm,  well  fed 

255 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

and  smartly  turned  out,  and  able  to  call  in  a 
specialist  and  a  couple  of  trained  nurses  if  one  of 
the  children  falls  ill;  we  want  thirty-five  feet  of 
southerly  exposure  instead  of  seventeen,  menserv- 
ants  instead  of  maidservants,  and  a  new  motor 
every  two  years. 

We  do  not  object  to  working — that  is  to  say,  we 
pride  ourselves  on  having  a  job.  We  like  to  be 
moderately  busy.  We  would  not  have  enough  to 
amuse  us  all  day  if  we  did  not  go  to  the  office  in 
the  morning;  but  what  we  do  is  not  'work!  It  is 
occupation  perhaps — but  there  is  no  labor  about  it, 
either  of  mind  or  body.  It  is  a  sinecure — a 
"cinch."  We  could  stay  at  home  and  most  of  us 
would  not  be  missed.  It  is  not  the  seventy-five- 
hundred-dollar-a-year  vice-president  but  the  eight- 
hundred-and-fifty-dollar  clerk  for  want  of  whom 
the  machine  would  stop  if  he  were  sick.  Our 
labor  is  a  kind  of  masculine  light  housework. 

We  probably  have  private  incomes,  thanks 
to  our  fathers  or  great  uncles — not  large  enough  to 
enable  us  to  cut  much  of  a  dash,  to  be  sure,  but  suf 
ficient  to  give  us  confidence — and  the  proceeds  of 

256 


MY  MORALS 

our  daily  toil,  such  as  it  is,  goes  toward  the  pur 
chase  of  luxuries  merely.  Because  we  are  in  busi 
ness  we  are  able  to  give  bigger  and  more  elegant 
dinner  parties,  go  to  Palm  Beach  in  February,  and 
keep  saddle-horses;  but  we  should  be  perfectly  se 
cure  without  working  at  all. 

Hence  we  have  a  sense  of  independence  about 
it.  We  feel  as  if  it  were  rather  a  favor  on 
our  part  to  be  willing  to  go  into  an  office;  and  we 
expect  to  be  paid  vastly  more  proportionately  than 
the  fellow  who  needs  the  place  in  order  to  live;  so 
we  cut  him  out  of  it  at  a  salary  three  times  what  he 
would  have  been  paid  had  he  got  the  job,  while  he 
keeps  on  grinding  at  the  books  as  a  subordinate. 
We  come  down  late  and  go  home  early,  drop  in  at 
the  club  and  go  out  to  dinner,  take  in  the  opera, 
wear  furs,  ride  in  automobiles,  and  generally  boss 
the  show — for  the  sole  reason  that  we  belong  to 
the  crowd  who  have  the  money.  Very  likely  if  we 
had  not  been  born  with  it  we  should  die  from  mal 
nutrition,  or  go  to  Ward's  Island  suffering  from 
some  variety  of  melancholia  brought  on  by  worry 
over  our  inability  to  make  a  living. 

257 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

I  read  the  other  day  the  true  story  of  a  little 
East  Side  tailor  who  could  not  earn  enough  to  sup 
port  himself  and  his  wife.  He  became  half-crazed 
from  lack  of  food  and  together  they  resolved  to 
commit  suicide.  Somehow  he  secured  a  small  22- 
caliber  rook  rifle  and  a  couple  of  cartridges.  The 
wife  knelt  down  on  the  bed  in  her  nightgown,  with 
her  face  to  the  wall,  and  repeated  a  prayer  while 
he  shot  her  in  the  back.  When  he  saw  her  sink  to 
the  floor  dead  he  became  so  unnerved  that,  instead 
of  turning  the  rifle  on  himself,  he  ran  out  into  the 
street,  with  chattering  teeth,  calling  for  help. 

This  tragedy  was  absolutely  the  result  of  eco 
nomic  conditions,  for  the  man  was  a  hardworking 
and  intelligent  fellow,  who  could  not  find  employ 
ment  and  who  went  off  his  head  from  lack  of  nour 
ishment. 

Now  "I  put  it  to  you,"  as  they  say  in  the  Eng 
lish  law  courts,  how  much  of  a  personal  sacrifice 
would  you  have  made  to  prevent  this  tragedy1? 
What  would  that  little  East  Side  Jewess'  life  have 
been  worth  to  you?  She  is  dead.  Her  soul  may 
or  may  not  be  with  God.  As  a  suicide  the  Church 

258 


MY  MORALS 

would  say  it  must  be  in  hell.  Well,  how  much 
would  you  have  done  to  preserve  her  life  or  keep 
her  soul  out  of  hell  ? 

Frankly,  would  you  have  parted  with  five  hun 
dred  dollars  to  save  that  woman's  life*?  Five 
hundred  dollars'?  Let  me  tell  you  that  you  would 
not  voluntarily  have  given  up  smoking  cigars  for 
one  year  to  avoid  that  tragedy!  Of  course  you 
would  have  if  challenged  to  do  so.  If  the  fact 
that  the  killing  could  be  avoided  in  some  such 
way  or  at  a  certain  price,  and  the  discrepancy  be 
tween  the  cost  and  the  value  of  the  life  were 
squarely  brought  to  your  particular  attention,  you 
might  and  probably  would  do  something.  How 
much  is  problematical. 

Let  us  do  you  the  credit  of  saying  that  you 
would  give  five  hundred  dollars — and  take  it  out 
of  some  other  charity.  But  what  if  you  were 
given  another  chance  to  save  a  life  for  fiye  hun 
dred  dollars'?  All  right;  you  will  save  that  too. 
Now  a  third !  You  hesitate.  That  will  be  spend 
ing  fifteen  hundred  dollars — a  good  deal.  Still 
you  decide  to  do  it.  Yet  how  embarrassing! 

259 


THE  ''GOLDFISH" 

You  find  an  opportunity  to  save  a  fourth,  a 
fifth — a  hundred  lives  at  the  same  price!  What 
are  you  going  to  do? 

We  all  of  us  have  such  a  chance  in  one  way  or 
another.  The  answer  is  that,  in  spite  of  the  ad 
monition  of  Christ  to  sell  our  all  and  give  to  the 
poor,  and  others  of  His  teachings  as  contained 
in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  you  probably,  in 
order  to  save  the  lives  of  persons  unknown  to  you, 
would  not  sacrifice  a  single  substantial  material 
comfort  for  one  year;  and  that  your  impulse  to 
save  the  lives  of  persons  actually  brought  to  your 
knowledge  would  diminish,  fade  away  and  die 
in  direct  proportion  to  the  necessity  involved 
of  changing  your  present  luxurious  mode  of 
life. 

Do  you  know  any  rich  woman  who  would  sacri 
fice  her  automobile  in  order  to  send  convalescents 
to  the  country?  She  may  be  a  very  charitable  per 
son  and  in  the  habit  of  sending  such  people  to 
places  where  they  are  likely  to  recover  health;  but, 
no  matter  how  many  she  actually  sends,  there 
would  always  be  eight  or  ten  more  who  could  share 

260 


MY  MORALS 

i 

in  that  blessed  privilege  if  she  gave  up  her  motor 
and  used  the  money  for  the  purpose.  Yet  she 
does  not  do  so  and  you  do  not  do  so;  and,  to  be 
quite  honest,  you  would  think  her  a  fool  if  she 
did. 

What  an  interesting  thing  it  would  be  if  we 
could  see  the  mental  processes  of  some  one  of  our 
friends  who,  unaware  of  our  knowledge  of  his 
thoughts,  was  confronted  with  the  opportunity  of 
saving  a  life  or  accomplishing  a  vast  good  at  a 
great  sacrifice  of  his  worldly  possessions ! 

Suppose,  for  instance,  he  could  save  his  own 
child  by  spending  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  doctors, 
hospitals  and  nurses.  Of  course  he  would  do  so 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  even  if  that  was  his 
entire  fortune.  But  suppose  the  child  were  a 
nephew?  We  see  him  waver  a  little.  A  cousin — 
there  is  a  distinct  pause.  Shall  he  pauperize  him 
self  just  for  a  cousin1?  How  about  a  mere  social 
acquaintance  ?  Not  much !  He  might  in  a  mo 
ment  of  excitement  jump  overboard  to  save  some 
body  from  drowning;  but  it  would  have  to  be  a 
dear  friend  or  close  relative  to  induce  him  to  go  to 

261 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

the  bank  and  draw  out  all  the  money  he  had  in  the 
world  to  save  that  same  life. 

The  cities  are  full  of  lives  that  can  be  saved 
simply  by  spending  a  little  money;  but  we  close 
our  eyes  and,  with  out  pocket-books  clasped 
tight  in  our  hands,  pass  by  on  the  other  side. 
Why"?  Not  because  we  do  not  wish  to  deprive 
ourselves  of  the  necessaries  of  life  or  even  of  its 
solid  comforts,  but  because  we  are  not  willing  to 
surrender  our  amusements.  We  want  to  play 
and  not  to  work.  That  is  what  we  are  doing, 
what  we  intend  to  keep  on  doing,  and  what  we 
plan  to  have  our  children  do  after  us. 

Brotherly  love1?  How  can  there  be  such  a 
thing  when  there  is  a  single  sick  baby  dying  for 
lack  of  nutrition — a  single  convalescent  suffocat 
ing  for  want  of  country  air — a  single  family  with 
out  fire  or  blankets  *?  Suggest  to  your  wife  that  she 
give  up  a  dinner  gown  and  use  the  money  to  send 
a  tubercular  office  boy  to  the  Adirondacks — and 
listen  to  her  excuses !  Is  there  not  some  charitable 
organization  that  does  such  things'?  Has  not  his 
family  the  money?  How  do  you  know  he  really 

262 


MY  MORALS 

has  consumption1?  Is  he  a  good  boy?  And 
finally:  "Well,  one  can't  send  every  sick  boy  to 
the  country;  if  one  did  there  would  be  no  money 
left  to  bring  up  one's  own  children."  She  hesi 
tates — and  the  boy  dies  perhaps !  So  long  as  we 
do  not  see  them  dying,  we  do  not  really  care  how 
many  people  die. 

Our  altruism,  such  as  it  is,  has  nothing  abstract 
about  it.  The  successful  man  does  not  bother 
himself  about  things  he  cannot  see.  Do  not  talk 
about  foreign  missions  to  him.  Try  his  less  suc 
cessful  brother — the  man  who  is  not  successful 
because  you  can  talk  over  with  him  foreign  mis 
sions  or  even  more  idealistic  matters;  who  is  a 
failure  because  he  will  make  sacrifices  for  a  prin 
ciple. 

It  is  all  a  part  of  our  materialism.  Real  sym 
pathy  costs  too  much  money;  so  we  try  not  to  see 
the  miserable  creatures  who  might  be  restored  to 
health  for  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars.  A  couple 
of  hundred  dollars'?  Why,  you  could  take  your 
wife  to  the  theater  forty  times — once  a  week  dur 
ing  the  entire  season — for  that  sum! 

263 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

Poor  people  make  sacrifices;  rich  ones  do  not. 
There  is  very  little  real  charity  among  successful 
people.  A  man  who  wasted  his  time  helping 
others  would  never  get  on  himself. 

It  will,  of  course,  be  said  in  reply  that  the  world 
is  full  of  charitable  institutions  supported  entirely 
by  the  prosperous  and  successful.  That  is  quite 
true;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  they  are 
small  proof  in  themselves  of  the  amount  of  real 
self-sacrifice  and  genuine  charity  existing  among 
us. 

Philanthropy  is  largely  the  occupation  of  other 
wise  ineffective  people,  or  persons  who  have  noth 
ing  else  to  do,  or  of  retired  capitalists  who  like  the 
notoriety  and  laudation  they  can  get  in  no  other 
way.  But,  even  with  philanthropy  to  amuse  him, 
an  idle  multimillionaire  in  these  United  States 
has  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it.  He  is  generally  too 
old  to  enjoy  society  and  is  not  qualified  to  make 
himself  a  particularly  agreeable  companion,  even 
if  his  manners  would  pass  muster  at  Newport. 
Politics  is  too  strenuous.  Desirable  diplomatic 

264 


MY  MORALS 

posts  are  few  and  the  choicer  ones  still  require 
some  dignity  or  educational  qualification  in  the 
holders.  There  is  almost  nothing  left  but  to 
haunt  the  picture  sales  or  buy  a  city  block  and 
order  the  construction  of  a  French  chateau  in  the 
middle  of  it. 

I  know  one  of  these  men  intimately;  in  fact  I 
am  his  attorney  and  helped  him  make  a  part  of  his 
money.  At  sixty-four  he  retired — that  is,  he 
ceased  endeavoring  to  increase  his  fortune  by 
putting  up  the  price  of  foodstuffs  and  other  com 
modities,  or  by  driving  competitors  out  of  busi 
ness.  Since  then  he  has  been  utterly  wretched. 
He  would  like  to  be  in  society  and  dispense  a  lav 
ish  hospitality,  but  he  cannot  speak  the  language 
of  the  drawing  room.  His  opera  box  stands  stark 
and  empty.  His  house,  filled  with  priceless  treas 
ures  fit  for  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  is  closed 
nine  months  in  the  year. 

His  own  wants  are  few.  His  wife  is  a  plain 
woman,  who  used  to  do  her  own  cooking  and,  in 
her  heart,  would  like  to  do  it  still.  He  knows 
nothing  of  the  esthetic  side  of  life  and  is  too  old 

265 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

to  learn.  Once  a  month,  in  the  season,  we  dine 
at  his  house,  with  a  mixed  company,  in  a  desert 
of  dining  room  at  a  vast  table  loaded  with  masses 
of  gold  plate.  The  peaches  are  from  South 
Africa;  the  strawberries  from  the  Riviera.  His 
chef  ransacks  the  markets  for  pheasants,  snipe, 
woodcock,  Egyptian  quail  and  canvasbacks. 
And  at  enormous  distances  from  each  other — so 
that  the  table  may  be  decently  full — sit,  with  their 
wives,  his  family  doctor,  his  clergyman,  his  broker, 
his  secretary,  his  lawyer,  and  a  few  of  the  more 
presentable  relatives — a  merry  party!  And  that 
is  what  he  has  striven,  fought  and  lied  for  for  fifty 
years. 

Often  he  has  told  me  of  the  early  days,  when 
he  worked  from  seven  until  six,  and  then  studied 
in  night  school  until  eleven;  and  of  the  later  ones 
when  he  and  his  wife  lived,  like  ourselves,  in  a 
Fourteenth  Street  lodging  house  and  saved  up  to 
go  to  the  theater  once  a  month.  As  a  young  man 
he  swore  he  would  have  a  million  before  he  died. 
Sunday  afternoons  he  would  go  up  to  the  Vander- 
bilt  house  on  Fifth  Avenue  and,  shaking  his  fist 

266 


MY  MORALS 

before  the  ornamental  iron  railing,  whisper  sav 
agely  that  he  would  own  just  such  a  house  himself 
some  day.  When  he  got  his  million  he  was  going 
to  retire.  But  he  got  his  million  at  the  age  of 
forty-five,  and  it  looked  too  small  and  mean;  he 
would  have  ten — then  he  would  stop ! 

By  fifty-five  he  had  his  ten  millions.  It  was 
comparatively  easy,  I  believe,  for  him  to  get  it. 
But  still  he  was  not  satisfied.  Now  he  has  twenty. 
But  apart  from  his  millions,  his  house  and  his 
pictures,  which  are  bought  for  him  by  an  agent 
on  a  salary  of  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year,  he  has 
nothing!  I  dine  with  him  out  of  chanty. 

Well,  recently  Johnson  has  gone  into  charity 
himself.  I  am  told  he  has  given  away  two  mil 
lions!  That  is  an  exact  tenth  of  his  fortune. 
He  is  a  religious  man — in  this  respect  he  has  out 
done  most  of  his  brother  millionaires.  However, 
he  still  has  an  income  of  over  a  million  a  year — 
enough  to  satisfy  most  of  his  modest  needs.  Yet 
the  frugality  of  a  lifetime  is  hard  to  overcome, 
and  I  have  seen  Johnson  walk  home — seven  blocks 
— in  the  rain  from  his  club  rather  than  take  a  cab, 

267 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

when  the  same  evening  he  was  giving  his  dinner 
guests  peaches  that  cost — in  December — two  dol 
lars  and  seventy-five  cents  apiece. 

The  question  is:  How  far  have  Johnson's  two 
millions  made  him  a  charitable  man1?  I  confess 
that,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  giving  them  up  did  not 
cost  him  the  slightest  inconvenience.  He  merely 
bought  a  few  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  reputa 
tion — as  a  charitable  millionaire — at  a  cost  of  two 
thousand  thousand  dollars.  It  was — commer 
cially — a  miserable  bargain.  Only  a  compara 
tively  few  people  of  the  five  million  inhabitants 
of  the  city  of  New  York  ever  heard  of  Johnson 
or  his  hospital.  Now  that  it  has  been  built,  he  is 
no  longer  interested.  I  do  not  believe  he  actually 
got  as  much  satisfaction  out  of  his  two-million-dol 
lar  investment  as  he  would  get  out  of  an  evening 
at  the  Hippodrome;  but  who  can  say  that  he  is  not 
charitable4? 

I  lay  stress  on  this  matter  of  charity  because 
essentially  the  charitable  man  is  the  good  man. 
And  by  good  we  mean  one  who  is  of  value  to  others 

268 


MY  MORALS 

as  contrasted  with  one  who  is  working,  as  most  of 
us  are,  only  for  his  own  pocket  all  the  time.  He  is 
the  man  who  is  such  an  egoist  that  he  looks  on  him 
self  as  a  part  of  the  whole  world  and  a  brother 
to  the  rest  of  mankind.  He  has  really  got  an 
exaggerated  ego  and  everybody  else  profits  by  it 
in  consequence. 

He  believes  in  abstract  principles  of  virtue  and 
would  die  for  them;  he  recognizes  duties  and  will 
struggle  along,  until  he  is  a  worn-out,  penniless 
old  man,  to  perform  them.  He  goes  out  search 
ing  for  those  who  need  help  and  takes  a  chance  on 
their  not  being  deserving.  Many  a  poor  chap 
has  died  miserably  because  some  rich  man  has 
judged  that  he  was  not  deserving  of  help.  I  for 
get  what  Lazarus  did  about  the  thirsty  gentleman 
in  Hades — probably  he  did  not  regard  him  as  de 
serving  either. 

With  most  of  us  a  charitable  impulse  is  like  the 
wave  made  by  a  stone  thrown  into  a  pool — it  gets 
fainter  and  fainter  the  farther  it  has  to  go.  Gen 
erally  it  does  not  go  the  length  of  a  city  block. 
It  is  not  enough  that  there  is  a  starving  cripple 

269 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

across  the  way — he  must  be  on  your  own  doorstep 
to  rouse  any  interest.  When  we  invest  any  of  our 
money  in  charity  we  want  twenty  per  cent  inter 
est,  and  we  want  it  quarterly.  We  also  wish  to 
have  a  list  of  the  stockholders  made  public.  A 
man  who  habitually  smokes  two  thirty-cent  cigars 
after  dinner  will  drop  a  quarter  into  the  plate  on 
Sunday  and  think  he  is  a  good  Samaritan. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  whatever  in 
stinct  leads  us  to  contribute  toward  the  alleviation 
of  the  obvious  miseries  of  the  poor  should  compel 
us  to  go  further  and  prevent  those  miseries — or  as 
many  of  them  as  we  can — from  ever  arising  at  all. 

So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  division  of  good 
ness  into  seven  or  more  specific  virtues  is  purely 
arbitrary.  Virtue  is  generic.  A  man  is  either 
generous  or  mean — unselfish  or  selfish.  The  un 
selfish  man  is  the  one  who  is  willing  to  inconven 
ience  or  embarrass  himself,  or  to  deprive  himself 
of  some  pleasure  or  profit  for  the  benefit  of  others, 
either  now  or  hereafter. 

By  the  same  token,  now  that  I  have  given 
thought  to  the  matter,  I  confess  that  I  am  a  selfish 

270 


MY  MORALS 

man — at  bottom.  Whatever  generosity  I  possess 
is  surface  generosity.  It  would  not  stand  the  acid 
test  of  self-interest  for  a  moment.  I  am  generous 
where  it  is  worth  my  while — that  is  all;  but,  like 
everybody  else  in  my  class,  I  have  no  generosity 
so  far  as  my  social  and  business  life  is  concerned. 
I  am  willing  to  inconvenience  myself  somewhat  in 
my  intimate  relations  with  my  family  or  friends, 
because  they  are  really  a  part  of  me — and,  any 
way,  not  to  do  so  would  result,  one  way  or  another, 
in  even  greater  inconvenience  to  me. 

Once  outside  my  own  house,  however,  I  am 
out  for  myself  and  nobody  else,  however  much  I 
may  protest  that  I  have  all  the  civic  virtues  and 
deceive  the  public  into  thinking  I  have.  What 
would  become  of  me  if  I  did  not  look  out  for  my 
own  interests  in  the  same  way  my  associates  look 
out  for  theirs?  I  should  be  lost  in  the  shuffle. 
The  Christian  virtues  may  be  proclaimed  from 
every  pulpit  and  the  Banner  of  the  Cross  fly  from 
every  housetop;  but  in  business  it  is  the  law  of 
evolution  and  not  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  that 
controls. 

271 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

The  rules  of  the  big  game  are  the  same  as  those 
of  the  Roman  amphitheater.  There  is  not  even  a 
pretense  that  the  same  code  of  morals  can  obtain 
among  corporations  and  nations  as  among  private 
individuals.  Then  why  blame  the  individuals? 
It  is  just  a  question  of  dog  eat  dog.  We  are  all 
after  the  bone. 

No  corporation  would  shorten  the  working  day 
except  by  reason  of  self-interest  or  legal  compul 
sion.  No  business  man  would  attack  an  abuse 
that  would  take  money  out  of  his  own  pocket. 
And  no  one  of  us,  except  out  of  revenge  or  pique, 
would  publicly  criticize  or  condemn  a  man  influ 
ential  enough  to  do  us  harm.  The  political  Saint 
George  usually  hopes  to  jump  from  the  back  of 
the  dead  dragon  of  municipal  corruption  into  the 
governor's  chair. 

We  have  two  standards  of  conduct — the  osten 
sible  and  the  actual.  The  first  is  a  convention — 
largely  literary.  It  is  essentially  merely  a  matter 
of  manners — to  lubricate  the  wheels  of  life.  The 
genuine  sphere  of  its  influence  extends  only  to 
those  with  whom  we  have  actual  contact;  so  that 

272 


MY  MORALS 

a  breach  of  it  would  be  embarrassing  to  us. 
Within  this  qualified  circle  we  do  business  as 
"Christians  &  Company,  Limited."  Outside  this 
circle  we  make  a  bluff  at  idealistic  standards,  but 
are  guided  only  by  the  dictates  of  self-interest, 
judged  almost  entirely  by  pecuniary  tests. 

I  admit,  however,  that,  though  I  usually  act 
from  selfish  motives,  I  would  prefer  to  act  gen 
erously  if  I  could  do  so  without  financial  loss. 
That  is  about  the  extent  of  my  altruism,  though  I 
concede  an  omnipresent  consciousness  of  what  is 
abstractly  right  and  what  is  wrong.  Occasion 
ally,  but  very  rarely,  I  even  blindly  follow  this 
instinct  irrespective  of  consequences. 

There  have  been  times  when  I  have  been  genu 
inely  self-sacrificing.  Indeed  I  should  unhesitat 
ingly  die  for  my  son,  my  daughters — and  probably 
for  my  wife.  I  have  frequently  suffered  financial 
loss  rather  than  commit  perjury  or  violate  my 
sense  of  what  is  right.  I  have  called  this  sense  an 
instinct,  but  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  what 
it  is.  Neither  can  I  explain  its  origin.  If  it  is 
anything  it  is  probably  utilitarian;  but  it  does 

273 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

not  go  very  far.  I  have  manners  rather  than 
morals. 

Fundamentally  I  am  honest,  because  to  be  hon 
est  is  one  of  the  rules  of  the  game  I  play.  If  I 
were  caught  cheating  I  should  not  be  allowed 
to  participate.  Honestly  from  this  point  of 
view  is  so  obviously  the  best  policy  that  I  have 
never  yet  met  a  big  man  in  business  who  was 
crooked.  Mind  you,  they  were  most  of  them 
pirates — frankly  flying  the  black  flag  and  each 
trying  to  scuttle  the  other's  ships;  but  their  word 
was  as  good  as  their  bond  and  they  played  the 
game  squarely,  according  to  the  rules.  Men  of 
my  class  would  no  more  stoop  to  petty  dishones 
ties  than  they  would  wear  soiled  linen.  The  word 
lie  is  not  in  their  mutual  language.  They  may 
lie  to  the  outside  public — I  do  not  deny  that  they 
do — but  they  do  not  lie  to  each  other. 

There  has  got  to  be  some  basis  on  which  they 
can  do  business  with  one  another — some  stability. 
The  spoils  must  be  divided  evenly.  Good 
morals,  like  good  manners,  are  a  necessity  in  our 
social  relations.  They  are  the  uncodified  rules  of 

274 


MY  MORALS 

conduct  among  gentlemen.  Being  uncodified, 
they  are  exceedingly  vague ;  and  the  court  of  Pub 
lic  Opinion  that  administers  them  is  apt  to  be  not 
altogether  impartial.  It  is  a  "respecter  of  per 
sons." 

One  man  can  get  away  with  things  that  another 
man  will  hang  for.  A  Jean  Valjean  will  steal  a 
banana  and  go  to  the  Island,  while  some  rich  fel 
low  will  put  a  bank  in  his  pocket  and  everybody 
will  treat  it  as  a  joke.  A  popular  man  may  get 
drunk  and  not  be  criticized  for  it;  but  the  sour 
chap  who  does  the  same  thing  is  flung  out  of  the 
club.  There  is  little  justice  in  the  arbitrary  de 
cisions  of  society  at  large. 

In  a  word  we  exact  a  degree  of  morality  from 
our  fellowmen  precisely  in  proportion  to  its  ap 
parent  importance  to  ourselves.  It  is  a  purely 
practical  and  even  a  rather  shortsighted  matter 
with  us.  Our  friend's  private  conduct,  so  far  as 
it  does  not  concern  us,  is  an  affair  of  small  mo 
ment.  He  can  be  as  much  of  a  roue  as  he  chooses, 
so  long  as  he  respects  our  wives  and  daughters. 
He  can  put  through  a  gigantic  commercial  robbery 

275 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

and  we  will  acclaim  his  nerve  and  audacity,  pro 
vided  he  is  on  the  level  with  ourselves.  That  is 
the  reason  why  cheating  one's  club  members  at 
cards  is  regarded  as  worse  than  stealing  the  funds 
belonging  to  widows  and  orphans. 

So  long  as  a  man  conducts  himself  agreeably  in 
his  daily  intercourse  with  his  fellows  they  are  not 
going  to  put  themselves  out  very  greatly  to  punish 
him  for  wrongdoing  that  does  not  touch  their  own 
bank  accounts  or  which  merely  violates  their  pri 
vate  ethical  standards.  Society  is  crowded  with 
people  who  have  been  guilty  of  one  detestable  act, 
have  got  thereby  on  Easy  Street  and  are  living 
happily  ever  after. 

I  meet  constantly  fifteen  or  twenty  men  who 
have  deliberately  married  women  for  their  money 
— of  course  without  telling  them  so.  According 
to  our  professed  principles  this  is — to  say  the  least 
— obtaining  money  under  false  pretenses — a  crime 
under  the  statutes.  These  men  are  now  million 
aires.  They  are  crooks  and  swindlers  of  the 
meanest  sort.  Had  they  not  married  in  this  fash 
ion  they  could  not  have  earned  fifteen  hundred 

276 


MY  MORALS 

dollars  a  year;  but  everybody  goes  to  their  houses 
and  eats  their  dinners. 

There  are  others,  equally  numerous,  who  ac 
quired  fortunes  by  blackmailing  corporations  or 
by  some  deal  that  at  the  time  of  its  accomplish 
ment  was  known  to  be  crooked.  To-day  they  are 
received  on  the  same  terms  as  men  who  have  been 
honest  all  their  lives.  Society  is  not  particular  as 
to  the  origin  of  its  food  supply.  Though  we  might 
refuse  to  steal  money  ourselves  we  are  not  unwill 
ing  to  let  the  thief  spend  it  on  us.  We  are  too 
busy  and  too  selfish  to  bother  about  trying  to  pun 
ish  those  who  deserve  punishment. 

On  the  contrary  we  are  likely  to  discover 
surprising  virtues  in  the  most  unpromising  people. 
There  are  always  extenuating  circumstances.  In 
deed,  in  those  rare  instances  where,  in  the  case  of 
a  rich  man,  the  social  chickens  come  home  to  roost, 
the  reason  his  fault  is  not  overlooked  is  usually 
so  arbitrary  or  fortuitous  that  it  almost  seems  an 
injustice  that  he  should  suffer  when  so  many  others 
go  scot-free  for  their  misdeeds. 

Society  has  no  conscience,  and  whatever  it 
277 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

has  as  a  substitute  is  usually  stimulated  only  by 
motives  of  personal  vengeance.  It  is  easier  to 
gloss  over  an  offense  than  to  make  ourselves  dis 
agreeable  and  perhaps  unpopular. 

We  have  not  even  the  public  spirit  to  have  a 
thief  arrested  and  appear  against  him  in  court  if 
he  has  taken  from  us  only  a  small  amount  of 
money.  It  is  too  much  trouble.  Only  when  our 
pride  is  hurt  do  we  call  loudly  on  justice  and 
honor. 

Even  revenge  is  out  of  fashion.  It  requires 
too  much  effort.  Few  of  us  have  enough  principle 
to  make  ourselves  uncomfortable  in  attempting 
to  show  disapproval  toward  wrongdoers.  Were 
this  not  so,  the  wicked  would  not  be  still  flourish 
ing  like  green  bay  trees.  So  long  as  one  steals 
enough  he  can  easily  buy  our  forgiveness.  Hon 
esty  is  not  the  best  policy — except  in  trifles. 


278 


CHAPTER   VI 

MY    FUTURE 

WHEN  I  began  to  pen  these  wandering  con 
fessions — or  whatever  they  may  properly 
be  called — it  was  with  the  rather  hazy  purpose  of 
endeavoring  to  ascertain  why  it  was  that  I,  uni 
versally  conceded  to  be  a  successful  man,  was  not 
happy.  As  I  reread  what  I  have  written  I  realize 
that,  instead  of  being  a  successful  man  in  any  way, 
I  am  an  abject  failure. 

The  preceding  pages  need  no  comment.  The 
facts  speak  for  themselves.  I  had  everything  in 
my  favor  at  the  start.  I  had  youth,  health,  natu 
ral  ability,  a  good  wife,  friends  and  opportunity; 
but  I  blindly  accepted  the  standards  of  the  men 
I  saw  about  me  and  devoted  my  energies  to  the 
achievement  of  the  single  object  that  was  theirs — 
the  getting  of  money. 

Thirty  years  have  gone  by.  I  have  been  a 
279 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

leader  in  the  race  and  I  have  secured  a  prize. 
But  at  what  cost?  I  am  old — a  bundle  of  unde 
sirable  habits;  my  health  is  impaired;  my  wife 
has  become  a  frivolous  and  extravagant  woman; 
I  have  no  real  friends:  my  children  are  strangers 
to  me,  and  I  have  no  home.  I  have  no  interest 
in  my  family,  my  social  acquaintances,  or  in  the 
affairs  of  the  city  or  nation.  I  take  no  sincere 
pleasure  in  art  or  books  or  outdoor  life.  The  only 
genuine  satisfaction  that  is  mine  is  in  the  first 
fifteen-minutes'  flush  after  my  afternoon  cocktail 
and  the  preliminary  course  or  two  of  my  dinner. 
I  have  nothing  to  look  forward  to.  No  mat 
ter  how  much  money  I  make,  there  is  no  use  to 
which  I  can  put  it  that  will  increase  my  happiness. 

From  a  material  standpoint  I  have  achieved  ev 
erything  I  can  possibly  desire.  No  king  or  emperor 
ever  approximated  the  actual  luxury  of  my  daily 
life.  No  one  ever  accomplished  more  apparent 
work  with  less  actual  personal  effort.  I  am  a  mas 
ter  at  the  exploitation  of  intellectual  labor. 

I  have  motors,  saddle-horses,  and  a  beautiful 
summer  cottage  at  a  cool  and  fashionable  resort. 

280 


MY  FUTURE 

I  travel  abroad  when  the  spirit  moves  me ;  I  enter 
tain  lavishly  and  am  entertained  in  return;  I 
smoke  the  costliest  cigars;  I  have  a  reputation  at 
the  bar,  and  I  have  an  established  income  large 
enough  to  sustain  at  least  sixty  intelligent  people 
and  their  families  in  moderate  comfort.  This 
must  be  true,  for  on  the  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars  a  month  I  pay  my  chauffeur 
he  supports  a  wife  and  two  children,  sends  them 
to  school  and  on  a  three-months'  vacation  into 
the  country  during  the  summer.  And,  instead  of 
all  these  things  giving  me  any  satisfaction,  I  am 
miserable  and  discontented. 

The  fact  that  I  now  realize  the  selfishness  of 
my  life  led  me  to-day  to  resolve  to  do  something 
for  others — and  this  resolve  had  an  unexpected 
and  surprising  consequence. 

Heretofore  I  had  been  engaged  in  an  introspec 
tive  study  of  my  own  attitude  toward  my  fellows. 
I  had  not  sought  the  evidence  of  outside  parties. 
What  has  just  occurred  has  opened  my  eyes  to 
the  fact  that  others  have  not  been  nearly  so  blind 
as  I  have  been  myself. 

281 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

James  Hastings,  my  private  secretary,  is  a  man 
of  about  forty-five  years  of  age.  He  has  been  in 
my  employ  fifteen  years.  He  is  a  fine  type  of 
man  and  deserves  the  greatest  credit  for  what  he 
has  accomplished.  Beginning  life  as  an  office  boy 
at  three  dollars  a  week,  he  educated  himself  by 
attending  school  at  night,  learned  stenography 
and  typewriting,  and  has  become  one  of  the  most 
expert  law  stenographers  in  Wall  Street.  I  be 
lieve  that,  without  being  a  lawyer,  he  knows  al 
most  as  much  law  as  I  do. 

Gradually  I  have  raised  his  wages  until  he  is 
now  getting  fifty  dollars  a  week.  In  addition  to 
this  he  does  nightwork  at  the  Bar  Association  at 
double  rates,  acts  as  stenographer  at  legal  refer 
ences,  and  does,  I  understand,  some  trifling  liter 
ary  work  besides.  I  suppose  he  earns  from  thirty- 
five  hundred  to  five  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
About  thirteen  years  ago  he  married  one  of  the 
woman  stenographers  in  the  office — a  nice  girl 
she  was  too — and  now  they  have  a  couple  of  chil 
dren.  He  lives  somewhere  in  the  country  and 
spends  an  unconscionable  time  on  the  train 

282 


MY  FUTURE 

daily,   yet  he   is   always  on  hand   at  an   early 
hour. 

What  happened  to-day  was  this :  A  peculiarly 
careful  piece  of  work  had  been  done  in  the  way  of 
looking  up  a  point  of  corporation  law,  and  I  in 
quired  who  was  responsible  for  briefing  it.  Hast- 
tings  smiled  and  said  he  had  done  so.  As  I 
looked  at  him  it  suddenly  dawned  on  me  that 
this  man  might  make  real  money  if  he  studied 
for  the  bar  and  started  in  practice  for  himself. 
He  had  brains  and  an  enormous  capacity  for  work. 
I  should  dislike  losing  so  capable  a  secretary,  but 
it  would  be  doing  him  a  good  turn  to  let  him  know 
what  I  thought;  and  it  was  time  that  I  did 
somebody  a  good  turn  from  an  unselfish  mo 
tive. 

"Hastings,"  I  said,  "you  're  too  good  to  be 
merely  a  stenographer.  Why  don't  you  study 
law  and  make  some  money?  I  '11  keep  you  here 
in  my  office,  throw  things  in  your  way  and  push 
you  along.  What  do  you  say*?" 

He  flushed  with  gratification,  but,  after  a  mo 
ment's  respectful  hesitation,  shook  his  head. 

283 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  he  replied,  "but 
I  would  n't  care  to  do  it.  I  really  would  n't!" 

Though  I  am  fond  of  the  man,  his  obstinacy 
nettled  me. 

"Look  here!"  I  cried.  "I'm  offering  you  an 
unusual  chance.  You  had  better  think  twice  be 
fore  you  decline  such  an  opportunity  to  make 
something  of  yourself.  If  you  don't  take  it  you  '11 
probably  remain  what  you  are  as  long  as  you  live. 
Seize  it  and  you  may  do  as  well  as  I  have." 

Hastings  smiled  faintly. 

"I  'm  very  sorry,  sir,"  he  repeated.  "I  'm 
grateful  to  you  for  your  interest;  but — I  hope 
you  '11  excuse  me — I  would  n't  change  places  with 
you  for  a  million  dollars !  No — not  for  ten  mil 
lion!" 

He  blurted  out  the  last  two  sentences  like  a 
schoolboy,  standing  and  twisting  his  notebook  be 
tween  his  fingers. 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  that  dashed  my 
spirits  like  a  bucket  of  cold  water.  He  had  not 
meant  to  be  impertinent.  He  was  the  most  truth 
ful  man  alive.  What  did  he  mean4?  Not  willing 

284 


MY  FUTURE 

to  change  places  with  me!  It  was  my  turn  to 
flush. 

"Oh,  very  well !"  I  answered  in  as  indifferent 
a  manner  as  I  could  assume.  "It 's  up  to  you.  I 
merely  meant  to  do  you  a  good  turn.  We  '11 
think  no  more  about  it." 

I  continued  to  think  about  it,  however.  Would 
not  change  places  with  me — a  fifty-dollar-a-week 
clerk ! 

Hastings'  pointblank  refusal  of  my  good  offices, 
coming  as  it  did  hard  on  the  heels  of  my  own 
realization  of  failure,  left  me  sick  at  heart. 
What  sort  of  an  opinion  could  this  honest  fellow, 
my  mere  employee — dependent  on  my  favor  for 
his  very  bread — have  of  me,  his  master*?  Clearly 
not  a  very  high  one !  I  was  stung  to  the  quick — 
chagrined;  ashamed. 

It  was  Saturday  morning.  The  week's  work 
was  practically  over.  All  of  my  clients  were  out 
of  town — golfing,  motoring,  or  playing  poker  at 
Cedarhurst.  There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  at 
the  office  but  to  indorse  half  a  dozen  checks  for 

285 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

deposit.  I  lit  a  cigar  and  looked  out  the  window 
of  my  cave  down  on  the  hurrying  throng  below. 
A  resolute,  never-pausing  stream  of  men  plodded 
in  each  direction.  Now  and  then  others  dashed 
out  of  the  doors  of  marble  buildings  and  joined 
the  crowd. 

On  the  river  ferryboats  were  darting  here  and 
there  from  shore  to  shore.  There  was  a  bedlam 
of  whistles,  the  thunder  of  steam  winches,  the 
clang  of  surface  cars,  the  rattle  of  typewriters. 
To  what  end1?  Down  at  the  curb  my  motor  car 
was  in  waiting.  I  picked  up  my  hat  and  passed 
into  the  outer  office. 

"By  the  way,  Hastings,"  I  said  casually  as  I 
went  by  his  desk,  "where  are  you  living  now*?" 

He  looked  up  smilingly. 

"Pleasantdale — up  Kensico  way,"  he  answered. 

I  shifted  my  feet  and  pulled  once  or  twice  on 
my  cigar.  I  had  taken  a  strange  resolve. 

"Er — going  to  be  in  this  afternoon?"  I  asked. 
"I'm  off  for  a  run  and  I  might  drop  in  for  a  cup 
of  tea  about  five  o'clock." 

"Oh,  will  you,  sir!"  he  exclaimed  with  pleas- 
286 


lire.  "We  shall  be  delighted.  Mine  is  the  house 
at  the  crossroads — with  the  red  roof." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "you  may  see  me — but  don't 
keep  your  tea  waiting." 

As  I  shot  uptown  in  my  car  I  had  almost  the 
feeling  of  a  coming  adventure.  Hastings  was  a 
good  sort !  I  respected  him  for  his  bluntness  of 
speech.  At  the  cigar  counter  in  the  club  I  re 
plenished  my  case. 

Then  I  went  into  the  reception  room,  where  I 
found  a  bunch  of  acquaintances  sitting  round  the 
window.  They  hailed  me  boisterously.  What 
would  I  have  to  drink?  I  ordered  a  "Hannah 
Elias"  and  sank  into  a  chair.  One  of  them  was 
telling  about  the  newest  scandal  in  the  divorce 
line:  The  president  of  one  of  our  largest  trust 
companies  had  been  discovered  to  have  been  lead 
ing  a  double  life — running  an  apartment  on  the 
West  Side  for  a  haggard  and  'passee  showgirl. 

"You  just  tell  me — I'd  like  to  know — why  a 
fellow  like  that  makes  such  a  damned  fool  of  him 
self!  Salary  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year! 
Big  house;  high-class  wife  and  family;  yacht — 

287 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

everything  anybody  wants.  Not  a  drinking  man 
either.  It  defeats  me!"  he  said. 

None  of  the  group  seemed  able  to  suggest  an  an 
swer.  I  had  just  tossed  off  my  "Hannah  Elias." 

"I  think  I  know,"  I  hazarded  meditatively. 
They  turned  with  one  accord  and  stared  at  me. 
"There  was  nothing  else  for  him  to  do,"  I  con 
tinued,  "except  to  blow  his  brains  out." 

The  raconteur  grunted. 

"I  don't  just  know  the  meaning  of  that!"  he  re 
marked.  "I  thought  he  was  a  friend  of  yours!" 

"Oh,  I  like  him  well  enough,"  I  answered,  get 
ting  up.  "Thanks  for  the  drink.  I've  got  to 
be  getting  home.  My  wife  is  giving  a  little 
luncheon  to  thirty  valuable  members  of  soci 
ety." 

I  was  delayed  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  when  the 
butler  opened  the  front  door  the  luncheon  party 
was  already  seated  at  the  table.  A  confused  din 
emanated  from  behind  the  portieres  of  the  dining 
room,  punctuated  by  shouts  of  female  laughter. 
The  idea  of  going  in  and  overloading  my  stomach 
for  an  hour,  while  strenuously  attempting  to  pro- 

288 


MY  FUTURE 

duce  light  conversation,  sickened  me.  I  shook  my 
head. 

"Just  tell  your  mistress  that  I  've  been  suddenly 
called  away  on  business,"  I  directed  the  butler 
and  climb  °d  back  into  my  motor. 

"Up  the  river!"  I  said  to  my  chauffeur. 

We  spun  up  the  Riverside  Drive,  past  rows  of 
rococo  apartment  houses,  along  the  Lafayette 
Boulevard  and  through  Yonkers.  It  was  a  glori 
ous  autumn  day.  The  Palisades  shone  red  and 
yellow  with  turning  foliage.  There  was  a  fresh 
breeze  down  the  river  and  a  thousand  whitecaps 
gleamed  in  the  sunlight.  Overhead  great  white 
clouds  moved  majestically  athwart  the  blue.  But 
I  took  no  pleasure  in  it  all.  I  was  suffering  from 
an  acute  mental  and  physical  depression.  Like 
Hamlet  I  had  lost  all  my  mirth — whatever  I  ever 
had — and  the  clouds  seemed  but  a  "pestilent  con 
gregation  of  vapors."  I  sat  in  a  sort  of  trance  as 
I  was  whirled  farther  and  farther  away  from  the 
city. 

At  last  I  noticed  that  my  silver  motor  clock  was 
pointing  to  half-past  two,  and  I  realized  that 

289 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

neither  the  chauffeur  nor  myself  had  had  anything 
to  eat  since  breakfast.  We  were  entering  a  tiny 
village.  Just  beyond  the  main  square  a  sign 
swinging  above  the  sidewalk  invited  wayfarers  to 
a  "  quick  lunch."  I  pressed  the  button  and  we 
pulled  to  the  gravel  walk. 

"Lunch !"  I  said,  and  opened  the  wire-netted 
door.  Inside  there  were  half  a  dozen  oilcloth- 
covered  tables  and  a  red-cheeked  young  woman 
was  sewing  in  a  corner. 

"What  have  you  got*?"  I  asked,  inspecting  the 
layout. 

"Tea,  coffee,  milk — eggs  any  style  you  want," 
she  answered  cheerily.  Then  she  laughed  in  a 
good-natured  way.  "There's  a  real  hotel  at 
Poughkeepsie — five  miles  along,"  she  added. 

"I  don't  want  a  real  hotel,"  I  replied.  "What 
are  you  laughing  at4?" 

Then  I  realized  that  I  must  look  rather  civilized 
for  a  motorist. 

"You  don't  look  as  you  'd  care  for  eggs,"  she 
said. 

"That 's  where  you  're  wrong,"  I  retorted.  "I 
290 


MY  FUTURE 

want  three  of  the  biggest,  yellowest,  roundest 
poached  eggs  your  fattest  hen  ever  laid — and  a 
schooner  of  milk." 

The  girl  vanished  into  the  back  of  the  shop  and 
presently  I  could  smell  toast.  I  discovered  I  was 
extremely  hungry.  In  about  eight  minutes  she 
came  back  with  a  tray  on  which  was  a  large  glass 
of  creamy  milk  and  the  triple  eggs  for  which  I 
had  prayed.  They  were  spherical,  white  and 
wabbly. 

"You  're  a  prize  poacher,"  I  remarked,  my 
spirits  reviving. 

She  smiled  appreciatively. 

"Going  far?"  she  inquired,  sitting  down  quite 
at  ease  at  one  of  the  neighboring  tables. 

I  looked  pensively  at  her  pleasant  face  across 
the  eggs. 

"That 's  a  question,"  I  answered.  "I  can't 
make  out  whether  I  've  been  moving  on  or  just 
going  round  and  round  in  a  circle." 

She  looked  puzzled  for  an  instant.  Then  she 
said  shrewdly: 

"Perhaps  you  've  really  been  going  back." 
291 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"Perhaps,"  I  admitted. 

I  have  never  tasted  anything  quite  so  good  as 
those  eggs  and  that  milk.  From  where  I  sat  I 
could  look  far  up  the  Hudson ;  the  wind  from  the 
river  swayed  the  red  maples  round  the  door  of  the 
quick  lunch;  and  from  the  kitchen  came  the 
homely  smells  of  my  lost  youth.  I  had  a  fleeting 
vision  of  the  party  at  my  house,  now  playing 
bridge  for  ten  cents  a  point;  and  my  soul  lifted 
its  head  for  the  first  time  in  weeks. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Pleas  an  tdale4?" 

"A  long  way,"  answered  the  girl;  "but  you  can 
make  a  connection  by  trolley  that  will  get  you 
there  in  about  two  hours." 

"Suits  me!"  I  said  and  stepped  to  the 
door.  "You  can  go,  James;  I'll  get  myself 
home." 

He  cast  on  me  a  scandalized  look. 

"Very  good,  sir!"  he  answered  and  touched  his 
cap. 

He  must  have  thought  me  either  a  raving  luna 
tic  or  an  unabashed  adventurer.  A  moment  more 
and  the  car  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  city. 

292 


MY  FUTURE 

I  was  free !  The  girl  made  no  attempt  to  conceal 
her  amusement. 

Behind  the  door  was  a  gray  felt  hat.  I  took  it 
down  and  looked  at  the  size.  It  was  within  a 
quarter  of  my  own. 

"Look  here,"  I  suggested,  holding  out  a  five- 
dollar  bill,  "I  want  a  Wishing  Cap.  Let  me  take 
this,  will  you4?" 

"The  house  is  yours!"  she  laughed. 

Over  on  the  candy  counter  was  a  tray  of  corn 
cob  pipes.  I  helped  myself  to  one,  to  a  package 
of  tobacco  and  a  box  of  matches.  I  hung  my 
derby  on  the  vacant  peg  behind  the  door.  Then  I 
turned  to  my  hostess. 

"You  're  a  good  girl,"  I  said.  "Good  luck  to 
you." 

For  a  moment  something  softer  came  into  her 
eyes. 

"And  good  luck  to  you,  sir!"  she  replied.  As 
I  passed  down  the  steps  she  threw  after  me:  "I 
hope  you  '11  find — what  you  're  looking  for !" 

In  my  old  felt  hat  and  smoking  my  corncob  I 
293 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

trudged  along  the  road  in  the  mellow  sunlight, 
almost  happy.  By  and  by  I  reached  the  trolley 
line;  and  for  five  cents,  in  company  with  a  hetero 
geneous  lot  of  country  folks,  Italian  laborers  and 
others,  was  transported  an  absurdly  long  distance 
across  the  state  of  New  York  to  a  wayside  sta 
tion. 

There  I  sat  on  a  truck  on  the  platform  and 
chatted  with  a  husky,  broad-shouldered  youth, 
who  said  he  was  the  "baggage  smasher,"  until 
finally  a  little  smoky  train  appeared  and  bore  me 
southward.  It  was  the  best  holiday  I  had  had  in 
years — and  I  was  sorry  when  we  pulled  into 
Pleasantdale  and  I  took  to  my  legs  again. 

In  the  fading  afternoon  light  it  indeed  seemed  a 
pleasant,  restful  place.  Comfortable  cottages, 
each  in  its  own  yard,  stood  in  neighborly  rows 
along  the  shaded  street.  Small  boys  were  playing 
football  in  a  field  adjoining  a  schoolhouse. 

Presently  the  buildings  became  more  scattered 
and  I  found  myself  following  a  real  country  road, 
though  still  less  than  half  a  mile  from  the  station. 
Ahead  it  divided  and  in  the  resulting  triangle, 

294 


MY  FUTURE 

behind  a  well-clipped  hedge,  stood  a  pretty  cot 
tage  with  a  red  roof — Hastings',  I  was  sure. 

I  tossed  away  my  pipe  and  opened  the  gate. 
A  rather  pretty  woman  of  about  thirty-five  was 
reading  in  a  red  hammock;  there  were  half  a  dozen 
straw  easy  chairs  and  near  by  a  teatable,  with  the 
kettle  steaming.  Mrs.  Hastings  looked  up  at  my 
step  on  the  gravel  path  and  smiled  a  welcome. 

"Jim  has  been  playing  golf  over  at  the  club — 
he  did  n't  expect  you  until  five,"  she  said,  coming 
to  meet  me. 

"I  don't  care  whether  he  comes  or  not,"  I  re 
turned  gallantly.  "I  want  to  see  you.  Besides, 
I  'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear."  She  raised  her  eye 
brows.  "I  had  only  an  egg  or  so  and  a  glass  of 
milk  for  luncheon,  and  I  have  walked — miles !" 

"Oh !"  she  exclaimed.  I  could  see  she  had  had 
quite  a  different  idea  of  her  erstwhile  employer; 
but  my  statement  seemed  to  put  us  on  a  more 
friendly  footing  from  the  start. 

"I  love  walking  too,"  she  hastened  to  say. 
"Is  n't  it  wonderful  to-day"?  We  get  weeks  of 
such  weather  as  this  every  autumn."  She  busied 

295 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

herself  over  the  teacups  and  then,  stepping  inside 
the  door  for  a  moment,  returned  with  a  plate  piled 
high  with  buttered  toast,  and  another  with  sand 
wiches  of  grape  jelly. 

"Carmen  is  out,"  she  remarked;  "otherwise  you 
should  be  served  in  greater  style." 

"Carmen?' 

"Carmen  is  our  maid,  butler  and  valet,"  she  ex 
plained.  "It 's  such  a  relief  to  get  her  out  of  the 
way  once  in  a  while  and  have  the  house  all  to 
oneself.  That's  one  of  the  reasons  I  enjoy  our 
two-weeks'  camping  trip  so  much  every  summer." 

"You  like  the  woods?" 

"Better  than  anything,  I  think — except  just 
being  at  home  here.  And  the  children  have  the 
time  of  their  lives — fishing  and  climbing  trees, 
and  watching  for  deer  in  the  boguns." 

The  gate  clicked  at  that  moment  and  Hastings, 
golf  bag  on  shoulders,  came  up  the  path.  He 
looked  lean,  brown,  hard  and  happy. 

"Just  like  me  to  be  late!"  he  apologized.  "I 
had  no  idea  it  would  take  me  so  long  to  beat 
Colonel  Bogey." 

296 


MY  FUTURE 

"Your  excuses  are  quite  unnecessary.  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  I  have  discovered  that  we  are  natu 
ral  affinities,"  said  I. 

My  stenographer,  quite  at  ease,  leaned  his  sticks 
in  a  corner  and  helped  himself  to  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  couple  of  sandwiches,  which  in  my  opinion 
rivaled  my  eggs  and  milk  of  the  early  afternoon. 
My  walk  had  made  me  comfortably  tired;  my 
lungs  were  distended  with  cool  country  air;  my 
head  was  clear,  and  this  domestic  scene  warmed 
the  cockles  of  my  heart. 

"How  is  the  Chicopee  &  Shamrock  reorganiza 
tion  coming  on4?"  asked  Hastings,  striving  to  be 
polite  by  suggesting  a  congenial  subject  for  con 
versation. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  retorted.  "I  've  forgotten 
all  about  it  until  Monday  morning.  On  the  other 
hand,  how  are  your  children  coming  on?" 

"Sylvia  is  out  gathering  chestnuts,"  answered 
Mrs.  Hastings,  "and  Tom  is  playing  football. 
They  '11  be  home  directly.  I  wonder  if  you 
would  n't  like  Jim  to  show  you  round  our 
place?' 

297 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"Just  the  thing,"  I  answered,  for  I  guessed  she 
had  household  duties  to  perform. 

"Of  course  you  '11  stay  to  supper*?"  she  pressed 
me. 

I  hesitated,  though  I  knew  I  should  stay,  all 
the  time. 

"Well — if  it  really  won't  put  you  out,"  I  re 
plied.  "I  suppose  there  are  evening  trains'?" 

"One  every  hour.  We  '11  get  you  home  by  ten 
o'clock." 

"I  '11  have  to  telephone,"  I  said,  remember 
ing  my  wife's  regular  Saturday-night  bridge 
party. 

"That 's  easily  managed,"  said  Hastings. 
"You  can  speak  to  your  own  house  right  from  my 
library." 

Again  I  barefacedly  excused  myself  to  my  but 
ler  on  the  ground  of  important  business.  As  we 
strolled  through  the  gateway  we  were  met  by  a 
sturdy  little  boy  with  tousled  hair.  He  had  on 
an  enormous  gray  sweater  and  was  hugging  a  pig 
skin. 

"We  beat  'em !"  he  shouted,  unabashed  by  my 
298 


MY  FUTURE 

obviously  friendly  presence.     "Eighteen  to  noth 
ing!" 

"Tom  is  twelve,"  said  Hastings  with  a  shade 
of  pride  in  his  voice.  "Yes,  the  schools  here  are 
good.  I  expect  to  have  him  ready  for  college  in 
five  years  more." 

"What  are  you  going  to  make  of  him*?"  I  asked. 

"A  civil  engineer,  I  think,"  he  answered.  "You 
see,  I  'm  a  crank  on  fresh  air  and  building  things 
— and  he  seems  to  be  like  me.  This  cooped-up 
city  life  is  pretty  narrowing,  don't  you  think ?" 

"It 's  fierce !"  I  returned  heartily,  with  more 
warmth  than  elegance.  "Sometimes  I  wish  I 
could  chuck  the  whole  business  and  go  to  farm- 
ing." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked  as  we  climbed  a  small  rise 
behind  the  house.  "Here 's  my  farm — fifteen 
acres.  We  raise  most  of  our  own  truck." 

Below  the  hill  a  cornfield,  now  yellow  with 
pumpkins,  stretched  to  the  farther  road.  Nearer 
the  house  was  a  kitchen  garden,  with  an  apple 
orchard  beyond.  A  man  in  shirtsleeves  was  milk 
ing  a  cow  behind  a  tiny  barn. 

299 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"I  bought  this  place  three  years  ago  for  thirty- 
nine  hundred  dollars,"  said  my  stenographer. 
"They  say  it  is  worth  nearer  six  thousand  now. 
Anyhow  it  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  to  me !" 

A  little  girl,  with  bulging  apron,  appeared  at 
the  edge  of  the  orchard  and  came  running  toward 
us. 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  called  her  father. 

"Oh,  daddy!  Such  lovely  chestnuts!"  cried 
the  child.  "And  there  are  millions  more  of 
them!" 

"We  '11  roast  'em  after  supper,"  said  her  father. 
"Toddle  along  now  and  wash  up." 

She  put  up  a  rosy,  beaming  face  to  be  kissed 
and  dashed  away  toward  the  house.  I  tried  to  re 
member  what  either  of  my  two  girls  had  been  like 
at  her  age,  but  for  some  strange  reason  I  could  not. 

Across  the  road  the  fertile  countryside  sloped 
away  into  a  distant  valley,  hemmed  in  by  dim 
blue  hills,  below  which  the  sun  had  already  sunk, 
leaving  only  a  gilded  edge  behind.  The  air  was 
filled  with  a  soft,  smoky  haze.  A  church  bell  in 
the  village  struck  six  o'clock. 

300 


MY  FUTURE 

"The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way," 

I  murmured. 

"For  'plowman'  read  'golfer,'  "  smiled  my  host. 
"By  George,  though — it  is  pretty  good  to  be 
alive!"  The  air  had  turned  crisp  and  we  both 
instinctively  took  a  couple  of  deep  breaths. 
"Makes  the  city  look  like  thirty  cents!"  he  ejacu 
lated.  "Of  course  it  is  n't  like  New  York  or 
Southampton." 

"No,  thank  God !  It  is  n't !"  I  muttered  as  we 
wandered  toward  the  house. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  an  early  supper,"  apolo 
gized  Mrs.  Hastings  as  we  entered;  "but  Jim  gets 
absolutely  ravenous.  You  see,  on  weekdays  his 
lunch  is  at  best  a  movable  feast." 

Our  promptly  served  meal  consisted  of  soup, 
scrambled  eggs  and  bacon,  broiled  chops,  fried 
potatoes,  peas,  salad,  apple  pie,  cheese,  grapes 
plucked  fresh  from  the  garden  wall,  and  black 
coffee,  distilled  from  a  shining  coffee  machine. 
Mrs.  Hastings  brought  the  things  hot  from  the 

301 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

kitchen  and  dished  them  herself.  Tom  and 
Sylvia,  carefully  spruced  up,  ate  prodigiously  and 
then  helped  clear  away  the  dishes,  while  I  pro 
duced  my  cigar  case. 

Then  Hastings  led  me  across  the  hall  to  a  room 
about  twelve  feet  square,  the  walls  of  which  were 
lined  with  books,  where  a  wood  fire  was  already 
crackling  cozily.  Motioning  me  to  an  old  leather 
armchair,  he  pulled  up  a  wooden  rocker  before 
the  mantel  and,  leaning  over,  laid  a  regiment  of 
chestnuts  before  the  blazing  logs. 

I  stretched  out  my  legs  and  took  a  long  pull  on 
one  of  my  Carona-Caronas.  It  all  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true.  Only  six  hours  before  in  my 
marble  entrance  hall  I  had  listened  disgustedly 
to  the  cackle  of  my  wife's  luncheon  party  behind 
the  tapestry  of  my  own  dining  room. 

After  all,  how  easy  it  was  to  be  happy !  Here 
was  Hastings,  jolly  as  a  clam  and  living  like  a 
prince  on — what*?  I  wondered. 

"Hastings,"  I  said,  "do  you  mind  telling  me 
how  much  it  costs  you  to  live  like  this?" 

"Not  at  all,"  he  replied — "though  I  never  fig- 
302 


MY  FUTURE 

ured  it  out  exactly.  Let 's  see.  Five  per  cent  on 
the  cost  of  the  place — say,  two  hundred  dollars. 
Repairs  and  insurance  a  hundred.  That 's  three 
hundred,  is  n't  it*?  We  pay  the  hired  man  thirty- 
five  dollars  and  Carmen  eighteen  dollars  a  month, 
and  give  'em  their  board — about  six  hundred  and 
fifty  more.  So  far  nine  hundred  and  fifty.  Our 
vegetables  and  milk  cost  us  practically  nothing — 
meat  and  groceries  about  seventy-five  a  month — 
nine  hundred  a  year. 

"We  have  one  horse;  but  in  good  weather  I  use 
my  bicycle  to  go  to  the  station.  We  cut  our  own 
ice  in  the  pond  back  of  the  orchard.  The  schools 
are  free.  I  cut  quite  a  lot  of  wood  myself,  but 
my  coal  comes  high — must  cost  me  at  least  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  a  year.  I  don't  have  many  doctors' 
bills,  living  out  here;  but  the  dentist  hits  us  for 
about  twenty-five  dollars  every  six  months — 
that 's  fifty  more.  My  wife  spends  about  three 
hundred  and  the  children  as  much  more.  Of 
course  that 's  fairly  liberal.  One  does  n't  need 
ballgowns  in  our  village. 

"My  own  expenses  are,  railroad  fare,  lunches, 

303 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tobacco — I  smoke  a  pipe  mostly — and  clothes — 
probably  about  five  hundred  in  all.  We  go  on  a 
big  bat  once  a  month  and  dine  at  a  table-d'hote 
restaurant,  and  take  in  the  opera  or  the  play. 
That  costs  some — about  ten  dollars  a  clip — say, 
eighty  for  the  season;  and,  of  course,  I  blow  the 
kids  to  a  camping  trip  every  summer,  which  sets 
me  back  a  good  hundred  and  fifty.  How  does 
that  come  out4?" 

I  had  jotted  the  items  down,  as  he  went  along, 
on  the  back  of  an  envelope. 

"Thirty- three  hundred  and  eighty  dollars,"  I 
said,  adding  them  up. 

"It  seems  a  good  deal,"  he  commented,  turning 
and  gazing  into  the  fire;  "but  I  have  usually  man 
aged  to  lay  up  about  fifteen  hundred  every  year — 
besides,  of  course,  the  little  I  give  away." 

I  sat  stunned.  Thirty-three  hundred  dollars! 
— I  spent  seventy-two  thousand ! — and  the  man 
lived  as  well  as  I  did !  What  did  I  have  that  he 
had  not1?  But  Hastings  was  saying  something, 
still  with  his  back  toward  me. 

"I  suppose  you  thought  I  must  be  an  ungrateful 
304 


MY  FUTURE 

dog  not  to  jump  at  the  offer  you  made  me  this 
morning,"  he  remarked  in  an  embarrassed  manner. 
"It 's  worried  me  a  lot  all  day.  I  'm  really  tre 
mendously  gratified  at  your  kindness.  I  could  n't 
very  well  explain  myself,  and  I  don't  know  what 
possessed  me  to  say  what  I  did  about  my  not  being 
willing  to  exchange  places  with  you.  But,  you 
see,  I  'm  over  forty.  That  makes  a  heap  of  differ 
ence.  I  'm  as  good  a  stenographer  as  you  can 
find,  and  so  long  as  my  health  holds  out  I  can 
be  sure  of  at  least  fifty  dollars  a  week,  besides  what 
I  earn  outside. 

"I  've  never  had  any  kink  for  the  law.  I  don't 
think  I  'd  be  a  success  at  it;  and  frankly,  saving 
your  presence,  I  don't  like  it.  A  lot  of  it  is  easy 
money  and  a  lot  of  it  is  money  earned  in  the  mean 
est  way  there  is — playing  dirty  tricks;  putting  in 
the  wrong  a  fellow  that's  really  right;  aggravat 
ing  misunderstandings  and  profiting  by  the  quar 
rels  people  get  into.  You  're  a  highclass,  honor 
able  man,  and  you  don't  see  the  things  I  see."  I 
winced.  If  he  only  knew,  I  had  seen  a  good 
deal!  "But  I  go  round  among  the  other  law 

305 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

offices,  and  I  tell  you  it 's  a  demoralizing  profes 
sion. 

"It's  all  right  to  reorganize  a  railroad;  but  in 
general  litigation  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  lawyers 
spend  most  of  their  time  trying  to  make  the  judge 
and  jury  believe  the  witnesses  are  all  criminals. 
Everything  a  man  says  on  the  stand  or  has  ever 
done  in  his  life  is  made  the  subject  of  a  false  infer 
ence — an  innuendo.  The  law  is  n't  constructive 
— it 's  destructive;  and  that 's  why  I  want  my  boy 
to  be  a  civil  engineer." 

He  paused,  abashed  at  his  own  heat. 

"Well,"  I  interjected,  "it 's  a  harsh  arraign 
ment;  but  there  's  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  you 
say.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  make  big  money1?" 

"Big  money!  I  do  make  big  money — for  a 
man  of  my  class,"  he  replied  with  a  gentle  smile. 
"I  would  n't  know  what  to  do  with  much  more. 
I  've  got  health  and  a  comfortable  home,  the  affec 
tion  of  an  honest  woman  and  two  fine  children. 
I  work  hard,  sleep  like  a  log,  and  get  a  couple  of 
sets  of  tennis  or  a  round  of  golf  on  Saturdays  and 
Sundays.  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  I 

306 


MY  FUTURE 

give  you  your  money's  worth  for  the  salary  you 
pay  me.  My  kids  have  as  good  teachers  as  there 
are  anywhere.  We  see  plenty  of  people  and  I 
belong  to  a  club  or  two.  I  bear  a  good  reputation 
in  the  town  and  try  to  keep  things  going  in  the 
right  direction.  We  have  all  the  books  and 
magazines  we  want  to  read.  What 's  more, 
I  don't  worry  about  trying  to  be  something  I  'm 
not." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  I  asked,  feeling  that  his 
talk  was  money  in  my  moral  pocket. 

"Oh,  I  've  seen  a  heap  of  misery  in  New  York 
due  to  just  wanting  to  get  ahead — I  don't  know 
where;  fellows  that  are  just  crazy  to  make  'big 
money,'  as  you  call  it,  in  order  to  ride  in  motors 
and  get  into  some  sort  of  society.  All  the  clerks, 
office  boys  and  stenographers  seem  to  want  to  be 
come  stockbrokers.  Personally  I  don't  see  what 
there  is  in  it  for  them.  I  don't  figure  out  that  my 
boy  would  be  any  happier  with  two  million  dol 
lars  than  without.  If  he  had  it  he  would  be 
worrying  all  the  time  for  fear  he  was  n't  getting 
enough  fun  for  his  money.  And  as  for  my  girl  I 

3°7 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

want  her  to  learn  to  do  something!  I  want  her 
to  have  the  discipline  that  comes  from  knowing 
how  to  earn  her  own  living.  Of  course  that 's 
one  of  the  greatest  satisfactions  there  is  in  life 
anyway — doing  some  one  thing  as  well  as  it  can 
be  done." 

"Would  n't  you  like  your  daughter  to  marry1?" 
I  demanded. 

"Certainly — if  she  can  find  a  clean  man  who 
wants  her.  Why,  it  goes  without  saying,  that  is 
life's  greatest  happiness — that  and  having  chil 
dren." 

"Certainly!"  I  echoed  with  an  inward  qualm. 

"Suppose  she  doesn't  marry  though?  That's 
the  point.  She  does  n't  want  to  hang  round  a 
boarding  house  all  her  life  when  everybody  is 
busy  doing  interesting  things.  I  've  got  a 
theory  that  the  reason  rich  people — especially  rich 
women — get  bored  is  because  they  don't  know  any 
thing  about  real  life.  Put  one  of  'em  in  a  law 
office,  hitting  a  typewriter  at  fifteen  dollars  a 
week,  and  in  a  month  she  'd  wake  up  to  what  was 
really  going  on — she  'd  be  alive!" 

308 


MY  FUTURE 

"  'The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things 
I'm  sure  tee  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings!' '' 

said  I.     "What 's  Sylvia  going  to  do?' 

"Oh,  she  's  quite  a  clever  little  artist."  He 
handed  me  some  charming  sketches  in  pencil  that 
were  lying  on  the  table.  "I  think  she  may  make 
an  illustrator.  Heaven  knows  we  need  'em! 
I  '11  give  her  a  course  at  Pratt  Institute  and  then 
at  the  Academy  of  Design ;  and  after  that,  if  they 
think  she  is  good  enough,  I  '11  send  her  to  Paris." 

"I  wish  I  'd  done  the  same  thing  with  my  girls !" 
I  sighed.  "But  the  trouble  is — the  trouble  is — 
You  see,  if  I  had  they  would  n't  have  been  doing 
what  their  friends  were  doing.  They  'd  have  been 
'out  of  it.'  " 

"No;  they  wouldn't  like  that,  of  course," 
agreed  Hastings  respectfully.  "They  would  want 
to  be  cin  it.'  " 

I  looked  at  him  quickly  to  see  whether  his  re 
mark  had  a  double  entendre. 

"I  don't  see  very  much  of  my  daughters,"  I  con 
tinued.  "They  've  got  away  from  me  some 
how." 

309 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"  That 's  the  tough  part  of  it,"  he  said  thought 
fully.  "I  suppose  rich  people  are  so  busy  with 
all  the  things  they  have  to  do  that  they  have  n't 
much  time  for  fooling  round  with  their  children. 
I  have  a  good  time  with  mine  though.  They  're 
too  young  to  get  away  anyhow.  We  read  French 
history  aloud  every  evening  after  supper.  Sylvia 
is  almost  an  expert  on  the  Duke  of  Guise  and  the 
Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew." 

We  smoked  silently  for  some  moments.  Hast 
ings'  ideas  interested  me,  but  I  felt  that  he  could 
give  me  something  more  personal — of  more  value 
to  myself.  The  fellow  was  really  a  philosopher 
in  his  quiet  way. 

"After  all,  you  have  n't  told  me  what  you  meant 
by  saying  you  would  n't  change  places  with  me," 
I  said  abruptly.  "What  did  you  mean  by  that"? 
I  want  to  know." 

"I  wish  you  would  forget  I  ever  said  it,  sir," 
he  murmured. 

"No,"  I  retorted,  "I  can't  forget  it.  You 
need  n't  spare  me.  This  talk  is  not  ex  cathedra— 
it 's  just  between  ourselves.  When  you  've  told 

310 


MY  FUTURE 

me  why,  then  I  will  forget  it.  This  is  man  to 
man." 

"Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "it  would  take 
me  a  long  time  to  put  it  in  just  the  right  way. 
There  was  nothing  personal  in  what  I  said  this 
morning.  I  was  thinking  about  conditions  in 
general — the  whole  thing.  It  can't  go  on!" 

"What  can't  go  on?" 

"The  terrible  burden  of  money,"  he  said. 

"Terrible  burden  of  money!"  I  repeated. 
What  did  he  mean4? 

"The  weight  of  it — that 's  bowing  people  down 
and  choking  them  up.  It 's  like  a  ball  and  chain. 
I  meant  I  would  n't  change  places  with  any  man 
in  the  millionaire  class — I  could  n't  stand  the  com 
plexities  and  responsibilities.  I  believe  the  time 
is  coming  when  no  citizen  will  be  permitted  to 
receive  an  income  from  his  inherited  or  accumu 
lated  possessions  greater  than  is  good  for  him. 
You  may  say  that 's  the  wildest  sort  of  socialism. 
Perhaps  it  is.  But  it 's  socialism  looked  at  from 
a  different  angle  from  the  platform  orators — the 
angle  of  the  individual. 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"I  don't  believe  a  man's  money  should  be  taken 
away  from  him  and  distributed  round  for  the  sake 
of  other  people — but  for  the  protection  of  the  man 
himself.  There  's  got  to  be  a  pecuniary  safety 
valve.  Every  dollar  over  a  certain  amount,  just 
like  every  extra  pound  of  steam  in  a  boiler,  is  a 
thing  of  danger.  We  want  health  in  the  indi 
vidual  and  in  the  state — not  disease. 

"Let  the  amount  of  a  man's  income  be  five,  ten, 
fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars — the  exact  fig 
ure  doesn't  matter;  but  there  is  a  limit  at  which 
wealth  becomes  a  drag  and  a  detriment  instead  of 
a  benefit !  I  'd  base  the  legality  of  a  confiscatory 
income  tax  on  the  constitutionality  of  any  health 
regulation  or  police  ordinance.  People  should  n't 
be  permitted  to  injure  themselves — or  have  poi 
son  lying  round.  Certainly  it 's  a  lesson  that  his 
tory  teaches  on  every  page. 

"Besides  everybody  needs  something  to  work 
for — to  keep  him  fit — at  least  that 's  the  way  it 
looks  to  me.  Nations — let  alone  mere  indi 
viduals — have  simply  gone  to  seed,  died  of  dry 
rot  because  they  no  longer  had  any  stimulus.  A 

312 


MY  FUTURE 

fellow  has  got  to  have  some  idea  in  the  back  of  his 
head  as  to  what  he  's  after — and  the  harder  it  is 
for  him  to  get  it,  the  better,  as  a  rule,  it  is  for  him. 
Good  luck  is  the  worst  enemy  a  heap  of  people 
have.  Misfortune  spurs  a  man  on,  tries  him  out 
and  develops  him — makes  him  more  human." 

"Ever  played  in  hard  luck?"  I  queried. 

"I*?  Sure,  I  have,"  answered  Hastings  cheer 
fully.  "And  I  would  n't  worry  much  if  it  came 
my  way  again.  I  could  manage  to  get  along 
pretty  comfortably  on  less  than  half  I  've  got.  I 
like  my  home;  but  we  could  be  happy  anywhere 
so  long  as  we  had  ourselves  and  our  health  and  a 
few  books.  However,  I  was  n't  thinking  of  my 
self.  I  've  got  a  friend  in  the  brokering  business 
who  says  it 's  the  millionaires  that  do  most  of  the 
worrying  anyhow.  Naturally  a  man  with  a  pile 
of  money  has  to  look  after  it;  but  what  puzzles  me 
is  why  anybody  should  want  it  in  the  first  place." 

He  searched  along  a  well-filled  and  disordered 
shelf  of  shabby  books. 

"Here  's  what  William  James  says  about  it: 

"  'We  have  grown  literally  afraid  to  be  poor. 

313 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

We  despise  any  one  who  elects  to  be  poor  in  order 
to  simplify  and  save  his  inner  life.  We  have  lost 
the  power  of  even  imagining  what  the  ancient 
idealization  of  poverty  could  have  meant — the 
liberation  from  material  attachments;  the  un- 
bribed  soul;  the  manlier  indifference;  the  paying 
our  way  by  what  we  are  or  do,  and  not  by  what 
we  have;  the  right  to  fling  away  our  life  at  any 
moment  irresponsibly — the  more  athletic  trim,  in 
short  the  moral  fighting  shape.  ...  It  is  certain 
that  the  prevalent  fear  of  poverty  among  the  edu 
cated  class  is  the  worst  moral  disease  from  which 
our  civilization  suffers.'  ' 

"I  guess  he  's  about  right,"  I  agreed. 

"That 's  my  idea  exactly,"  answered  Hastings. 
"As  I  look  at  it  the  curse  of  most  of  the  people 
living  on  Fifth  Avenue  is  that  they  're  perfectly 
safe.  You  could  take  away  nine- tenths  of  what 
they  've  got  and  they  'd  still  have  about  a  hun 
dred  times  more  money  than  they  needed  to  be 
comfortable.  They  're  like  a  whole  lot  of  fat 
animals  in  an  inclosure — they  're  fed  three  or  four 
times  a  day,  but  the  wire  fence  that  protects  them 

3H 


MY  FUTURE 

from  harm  deprives  them  of  any  real  liberty.  Or 
they  're  like  goldfish  swimming  round  and  round 
in  a  big  bowl.  They  can  look  through  sort  of 
dimly;  but  they  can't  get  out!  If  they  really 
knew,  they  'd  trade  their  security  for  their  free 
dom  any  time. 

"Perfect  safety  is  n't  an  unmixed  blessing  by 
any  means.  Look  at  the  photographs  of  the  wild 
Indians — the  ones  that  carried  their  lives  in  their 
hands  every  minute — and  there  's  something  stern 
and  noble  about  their  faces.  Put  an  Indian  on  a 
reservation  and  he  takes  to  drinking  whisky.  It 
was  the  same  way  with  the  chaps  that  lived  in 
the  Middle  Ages  and  had  to  wear  shirts  of  chain- 
mail.  It  kept  'em  guessing.  That 's  merely  one 
phase  of  it. 

"The  real  thing  to  put  the  bite  into  life  is  hav 
ing  a  Cause.  People  forget  how  to  make  sacri 
fices — or  become  afraid  to.  After  all,  even  dying 
is  n't  such  a  tremendous  trick.  Plenty  of  people 
have  done  it  just  for  an  idea — wanted  to  pray  in 
their  own  way.  But  this  modern  way  of  living 
takes  all  the  sap  out  of  folks.  They  get  an  en- 

315 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

tirely  false  impression  of  the  relative  values  of 
things.  It  takes  a  failure  or  a  death  in  the  family 
to  wake  them  up  to  the  comparative  triviality  of 
the  worth  of  money  as  compared,  for  instance,  to 
human  affection — any  of  the  real  things  of  life. 

"I  don't  object  to  inequality  of  mere  wealth  in 
itself,  because  I  would  n't  dignify  money  to  that 
extent.  Of  course  I  do  object  to  a  situation  where 
the  rich  man  can  buy  life  and  health  for  his  sick 
child  and  the  poor  man  can't.  Too  many  sick 
babies !  That  '11  be  attended  to,  all  right,  in 
time.  I  would  n't  take  away  one  man's  money 
for  the  sake  of  giving  it  to  others — not  a  bit  of 
it.  But  what  I  would  do  would  be  to  put  it  out 
of  a  man's  power  to  poison  himself  with  money. 

"Suicide  is  made  a  crime  under  the  law.  How 
about  moral  and  intellectual  suicide4?  It  ought 
to  be  prevented  for  the  sake  of  the  state.  No 
citizen  should  be  allowed  to  stultify  himself  with 
luxury  any  more  than  he  should  be  permitted  to 
cut  off  his  right  hand.  Excuse  me  for  being  didac 
tic — but  you  said  you  'd  like  to  get  my  point  of 
view  and  I  've  tried  to  give  it  to  you  in  a  dis- 

316 


MY  FUTURE 

jointed  sort  of  way.  I  'd  sooner  my  son  would 
have  to  work  for  his  living  than  not,  and  I  'd 
rather  he  'd  spend  his  life  contending  with  the 
forces  of  nature  and  developing  the  country  than 
in  quarreling  over  the  division  of  profits  that  other 
men  had  earned." 

I  had  listened  attentively  to  what  Hastings  had 
to  say;  and,  though  I  did  not  agree  with  all  of  it, 
I  was  forced  to  admit  the  truth  of  a  large  part. 
He  certainly  seemed  to  have  come  nearer  to  solv 
ing  the  problem  than  I  had  ever  been  able  to. 
Yet  it  appeared  to  my  conservative  mind  shock 
ingly  socialistic  and  chimerical. 

"So  you  really  think,"  I  retorted,  "that  the  state 
ought  to  pass  laws  which  should  prevent  the  ac 
cumulation — or  at  least  the  retention — of  large 
fortunes'?" 

Hastings  smiled  apologetically. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "I  don't  know  just  how 
far  I  should  advocate  active  governmental  inter 
ference,  though  it 's  a  serious  question.  You  're 
a  thousand  times  better  qualified  to  express  an 
opinion  on  that  than  I  am. 

317 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"When  I  spoke  about  health  and  police  regu 
lations  I  was  talking  metaphorically.  I  suppose 
my  real  idea  is  that  the  moral  force  of  the  com 
munity — public  opinion — ought  to  be  strong 
enough  to  compel  a  man  to  live  so  that  such  laws 
would  be  unnecessary.  His  own  public  spirit,  his 
conscience,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  should  influ 
ence  him  to  use  whatever  he  has  above  a  certain 
amount  for  the  common  good — to  turn  it  back 
where  he  got  it,  or  somebody  else  got  it,  instead  of 
demoralizing  the  whole  country  and  setting  an 
example  of  waste  and  extravagance.  That  kind 
of  thing  does  an  awful  lot  of  harm.  I  see  it  all 
round  me.  But,  of  course,  the  worst  sufferer  is 
the  man  himself,  and  his  own  good  sense  ought  to 
jack  him  up. 

"Still  you  can't  force  people  to  keep  healthy. 
If  a  man  is  bound  to  sacrifice  everything  for  money 
and  make  himself  sick  with  it,  perhaps  he  ought 
to  be  prevented." 

"Jim!"  cried  Mrs.  Hastings,  coming  in  with  a 
pitcher  of  cider  and  some  glasses.  "I  could  hear 
you  talking  all  the  way  out  in  the  kitchen.  I  'm 

318 


MY  FUTURE 

sure  you  've  bored  our  guest  to  death.  Why,  the 
chestnuts  are  burned  to  a  crisp !" 

"He  hasn't  bored  me  a  bit,"  I  answered;  "in 
fact  we  are  agreed  on  a  great  many  things.  How 
ever,  after  I  've  had  a  glass  of  that  cider  I  must 
start  back  to  town." 

"We  'd  love  to  have  you  spend  the  night,"  she 
urged.  "We  've  a  nice  little  guestroom  over  the 
library." 

The  invitation  was  tempting,  but  I  wanted  to 
get  away  and  think.  Also  it  was  my  duty  to  look 
in  on  the  bridge  party  before  it  became  too  sleepy 
to  recognize  my  presence.  I  drank  my  cider,  bade 
my  hostess  good  night  and  walked  to  the  station 
with  Hastings.  As  we  crossed  the  square  to  the 
train  he  said : 

"It  was  mighty  good  of  you  to  come  out  here 
to  see  us  and  we  both  appreciate  it.  Hope  you  '11 
forgive  my  bluntness  this  morning  and  for  shoot 
ing  off  my  mouth  so  much  this  evening." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  returned,  "that  was  what 
I  came  out  for.  You  've  given  me  something  to 
think  about.  I  'm  thinking  already.  You  're 

319 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

quite  right.     You  'd  be  a  fool  to  change  places 
with  anybody — let  alone  a  miserable  millionaire." 

In  the  smoker  of  the  accommodation,  to  which 
I  retired,  I  sat  oblivious  of  my  surroundings  until 
we  entered  the  tunnel.  So  far  as  I  could  see, 
Hastings  had  it  on  me  at  every  turn — at  thirty- 
three  hundred  a  year — considerably  less  than  half 
of  what  I  paid  out  annually  in  servants'  wages. 
And  the  exasperating  part  of  it  all  was  that, 
though  I  spent  seventy-two  thousand  a  year,  I  did 
not  begin  to  be  as  happy  as  he  was!  Not  by  a 
jugful!  Face  to  face  with  the  simple  comfort  of 
the  cottage  I  had  just  left,  its  sincerity  and  affec 
tion,  its  thrifty  self-respect,  its  wide  interests,  I 
confessed  that  I  had  not  been  myself  genuinely 
contented  since  I  left  my  mother's  house  for  col 
lege,  thirty  odd  years  before.  I  had  become  the 
willing  victim  of  a  materialistic  society. 

I  had  squandered  my  life  in  a  vain  effort  to 
purchase  happiness  with  money — an  utter  impos 
sibility,  as  I  now  only  too  plainly  saw.  I  was 
poisoned  with  it,  as  Hastings  had  said — sick  with 

320 


MY  FUTURE 

it  and  sick  of  it.  I  was  one  of  Hastings'  chain- 
gangs  of  prosperous  prisoners — millionaires  shack 
led  together  and  walking  in  lockstep;  one  of  his 
school  of  goldfish  bumping  their  noses  against  the 
glass  of  the  bowl  in  which  they  were  confined  by 
virtue  of  their  inability  to  live  outside  the  medium 
to  which  they  were  accustomed. 

I  was  through  with  it!  From  that  moment  I 
resolved  to  become  a  free  man;  living  my  own 
life;  finding  happiness  in  things  that  were  worth 
while.  I  would  chuck  the  whole  nauseating  busi 
ness  of  valets  and  scented  baths;  of  cocktails,  clubs 
and  cards ;  of  an  unwieldy  and  tiresome  household 
of  lazy  servants;  of  the  ennui  of  heavy  dinners; 
and  of  a  family  the  members  of  which  were 
strangers  to  each  other.  I  could  and  would  easily 
cut  down  my  expenditures  to  not  more  than  thirty 
thousand  a  year;  and  with  the  balance  of  my  in 
come  I  would  look  after  some  of  those  sick  babies 
Hastings  had  mentioned. 

I  would  begin  by  taking  a  much  smaller  house 
and  letting  half  the  servants  go,  including  my 
French  cook.  I  had  for  a  long  time  realized  that 

321 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

we  all  ate  too  much.  I  would  give  up  one  of  my 
motors  and  entertain  more  simply.  We  would 
omit  the  spring  dash  to  Paris,  and  I  would  insist 
on  a  certain  number  of  evenings  each  week  which 
the  family  should  spend  together,  reading  aloud 
or  talking  over  their  various  plans  and  interests. 
It  did  not  seem  by  any  means  impossible  in  the 
prospect  and  I  got  a  considerable  amount  of  satis 
faction  from  planning  it  all  out.  My  life  was 
to  be  that  of  a  sort  of  glorified  Hastings.  After 
my  healthy,  peaceful  day  in  the  quiet  country  I 
felt  quite  light-hearted — as  nearly  happy  as  I 
could  remember  having  been  for  years. 

It  was  raining  when  I  got  out  at  the  Grand  Cen 
tral  Station,  and  as  I  hurried  along  the  platform  to 
get  a  taxi  I  overtook  an  acquaintance  of  mine — 
a  social  climber.  He  gave  me  a  queer  look  in  re 
sponse  to  my  greeting  and  I  remembered  that  I 
had  on  the  old  gray  hat  I  had  taken  from  the 
quick  lunch. 

"I  've  been  off  for  a  tramp  in  the  country,"  I 
explained,  resenting  my  own  instinctive  embar 
rassment. 

322 


MY  FUTURE 

"Ah!  Don't  say!  Did  n't  know  you  went  in 
for  that  sort  of  thing!  Well,  good  night!" 

He  sprang  into  the  only  remaining  taxi  without 
asking  me  to  share  it  and  vanished  in  a  cloud  of 
gasoline  smoke.  I  was  in  no  mood  for  waiting; 
besides  I  was  going  to  be  democratic.  I  took  a 
surface  car  up  Lexington  Avenue  and  stood  be 
tween  the  distended  knees  of  a  fat  and  somnolent 
Italian  gentleman  for  thirty  blocks.  The  car  was 
intolerably  stuffy  and  smelled  strongly  of  wet  um 
brellas  and  garlic.  By  the  time  I  reached  the 
cross-street  on  which  I  lived  it  had  begun  to  pour. 
I  turned  up  my  coat  collar  and  ran  to  my  house. 

Somehow  I  felt  like  a  small  boy  as  I  threw  my 
self  panting  inside  my  own  marble  portal.  My 
butler  expressed  great  sympathy  for  my  condition 
and  smuggled  me  quickly  upstairs.  I  fancy  he 
suspected  there  was  something  discreditable  about 
my  absence.  A  pungent  aroma  floated  up  from 
the  drawing  room,  where  the  bridge  players  were 
steadily  at  work.  I  confess  to  feeling  rather 
dirty,  wet  and  disreputable. 

"I  'm  sorry,  sir,"  said  my  butler  as  he  turned 
323 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

on  the  electric  switch  in  my  bedroom,  "but  I 
did  n't  expect  you  back  this  evening,  and  so  I 
told  Martin  he  might  go  out." 

A  wave  of  irritation,  almost  of  anger,  swept 
over  me.  Martin  was  my  perfect  valet. 

"What  the  devil  did  you  do  that  for!"  I 
snapped. 

Then,  realizing  my  inconsistency,  I  was 
ashamed,  utterly  humiliated  and  disgusted  with 
myself.  This,  then,  was  all  that  my  resolution 
amounted  to  after  all ! 

"I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  repeated  my  butler. 
"Very  sorry,  sir,  indeed.  Shall  I  help  you  off 
with  your  things'?" 

"Oh,  that 's  all  right !"  I  exclaimed,  somewhat 
to  his  surprise.  "Don't  bother  about  me.  I  '11 
take  care  of  myself." 

"Can't  I  bring  you  something?"  he  asked  so 
licitously. 

"No,  thanks!"  said  I.  "I  don't  need  anything 
that  you  can  give  me!" 

"Very  good,  sir,"  he  replied.  "Good  night, 
sir." 

324 


MY  FUTURE 

"Good  night,"  I  answered,  and  he  closed  the 
door  noiselessly. 

I  lit  a  cigarette  and,  tossing  off  my  coat,  sank 
into  a  chair.  My  mere  return  to  that  ordered  ele 
gance  seemed  to  have  benumbed  my  individuality. 
Downstairs  thirty  of  our  most  intimate  friends 
were  amusing  themselves  at  the  cardtables,  conn- 
dent  that  at  eleven-thirty  they  would  be  served 
with  supper  consisting  of  salads,  ice-cream  and 
champagne.  They  would  not  hope  in  vain.  If 
they  did  not  get  it — speaking  broadly — they 
would  not  come  again.  They  wanted  us  as  we 
were — house,  food,  trappings — the  whole  layout. 
They  meant  well  enough.  They  simply  had  to 
have  certain  things.  If  we  changed  our  scale  of 
living  we  should  lose  the  acquaintance  of  these 
people,  and  we  should  have  nobody  in  their  place. 

We  had  grown  into  a  highly  complicated  sys 
tem,  in  which  we  had  a  settled  orbit.  This  orbit 
was  not  susceptible  of  change  unless  we  were  will 
ing  to  turn  everything  topsy-turvy.  Everybody 
would  suppose  we  had  lost  our  money.  And,  not 
being  brilliant  or  clever  people,  who  paid  their 

325 


THE  "GOLDFISH51 

way  as  they  went  by  making  themselves  lively  and 
attractive,  it  would  be  assumed  that  we  could  not 
keep  up  our  end;  so  we  should  be  gradually  left 
out. 

I  said  to  myself  that  I  ought  not  to  care — that 
being  left  out  was  what  I  wanted;  but,  all  the 
same,  I  knew  I  did  care.  You  cannot  tear  your 
self  up  by  the  roots  at  fifty  unless  you  are  pre 
pared  to  go  to  a  far  country.  I  was  not  prepared 
to  do  that  at  a  moment's  notice.  I,  too,  was  used 
to  a  whole  lot  of  things — was  solidly  imbedded  in 
them. 

My  very  house  was  an  overwhelming  incubus. 
I  was  like  a  miserable  snail,  forever  lugging  my 
house  round  on  my  back — unable  to  shake  it  off. 
A  change  in  our  mode  of  life  would  not  necessarily 
in  itself  bring  my  children  any  nearer  to  me;  it 
would,  on  the  contrary,  probably  antagonize  them. 
I  had  sowed  the  seed  and  I  was  reaping  the  har 
vest.  My  professional  life  I  could  not  alter.  I 
had  my  private  clients — my  regular  business.  Be 
sides  there  was  no  reason  for  altering  it.  I  con 
ducted  it  honorably  and  well  enough. 

326 


MY  FUTURE 

Yet  the  calm  consideration  of  those  very  diffi 
culties  in  the  end  only  demonstrated  the  clearer 
to  me  the  perilous  state  in  which  I  was.  The 
deeper  the  bog,  the  more  my  spirit  writhed  to  be 
free.  Better,  I  thought,  to  die  struggling  than 
gradually  to  sink  down  and  be  suffocated  beneath 
the  mire  of  apathy  and  self-indulgence. 

Hastings'  little  home — or  something — had 
wrought  a  change  in  me.  I  had  gone  through 
some  sort  of  genuine  emotional  experience.  It 
seemed  impossible  to  reform  my  mode  of  life  and 
thought,  but  it  was  equally  incredible  that  I 
should  fall  back  into  my  old  indifference.  Sit 
ting  there  alone  in  my  chamber  I  felt  like  a  man 
in  a  nightmare,  who  would  give  his  all  to  be  able 
to  rise,  yet  whose  limbs  were  immovable,  held  by 
some  subtle  and  cruel  power.  I  had  read  in  nov 
els  about  men  agonized  by  remorse  and  indeci 
sion.  I  now  experienced  those  sensations  my 
self.  I  discovered  they  were  not  imaginary 
states. 

My  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance  of  my  wife,  who,  with  an  anxious  look  on 

327 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

her  face,  inquired  what  was  the  matter.  The  but 
ler  had  said  I  seemed  indisposed;  so  she  had  slipped 
away  from  our  guests  and  come  up  to  see  for  her 
self.  She  was  in  full  regalia — elaborate  gown, 
pearls,  aigret. 

"There  's  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  I  an 
swered,  though  I  know  full  well  I  lied — I  was 
poisoned. 

"Well,  that's  a  comfort,  at  any  rate!"  she  re 
plied,  amiably  enough. 

"Where  's  Tom?"  I  asked  wearily. 

"I  have  n't  any  idea,"  she  said  frankly.  "You 
know  he  almost  never  comes  home." 

"And  the  girls?" 

"Visiting  the  Devereuxs  at  Staatsburg,"  she 
answered.  "Are  n't  you  coming  down  for  some 
bridge?" 

"No,"  I  said.  "To  tell  you  the  truth  I  never 
want  to  see  a  pack  of  cards  again.  I  want  to  cut 
the  game.  I  'm  sick  of  our  life  and  the  useless 
extravagance.  I  want  a  change.  Let 's  get  rid 
of  the  whole  thing — take  a  smaller  house — have 
fewer  servants.  Think  of  the  relief !" 

328 


MY  FUTURE 

"What's  the  matter4?"  she  cried  sharply. 
"Have  you  lost  money?" 

Money !     Money ! 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  have  n't  lost  money — I  've  lost 
heart!" 

She  eyed  me  distrustfully. 

"Are  you  crazy1?"  she  demanded. 

"No,"  I  answered.     "I  don't  think  I  am." 

"You  act  that  way,"  she  retorted.  "It 's  a 
funny  time  to  talk  about  changing  your  mode  of 
life — right  in  the  middle  of  a  bridge  party! 
What  have  you  been  working  for  all  these  years? 
And  where  do  I  come  in1?  You  can  go  to  your 
clubs  and  your  office — anywhere;  but  all  I  've  got 
is  the  life  you  have  taught  me  to  enjoy!  Tom  is 
grown  up  and  never  comes  near  me.  And  the 
girls — why,  what  do  you  think  would  happen  to 
them  if  you  suddenly  gave  up  your  place  in  so 
ciety?  They  'd  never  get  married  so  long  as  they 
lived.  People  would  think  you  'd  gone  bankrupt ! 
Really" — her  eyes  filled  and  she  dabbed  at  them 
with  a  Valenciennes  handkerchief — "I  think  it 
too  heartless  of  you  to  come  in  this  way — like 

329 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

a  skeleton  at  the  feast — and  spoil  my  eve 
ning!" 

I  felt  a  slight  touch  of  remorse.  I  had  broached 
the  matter  rather  roughly.  I  laid  my  hand  on 
her  shoulder — now  so  round  and  matronly,  once 
so  slender. 

"Anna,"  I  said  as  tenderly  as  I  could,  "suppose 
I  did  give  it  all  up?" 

She  rose  indignantly  to  her  feet  and  shook  off 
my  hand. 

"You'd  have  to  get  along  without  me!"  she 
retorted;  then,  seeing  the  anguish  on  my  face,  she 
added  less  harshly:  "Take  a  brandy-and-soda 
and  go  to  bed.  I  'm  sure  you  're  not  quite  your 
self." 

I  was  struck  by  the  chance  significance  of  her 
phrase — "Not  quite  yourself."  No;  ever  since  I 
had  left  the  house  that  morning  I  had  not  been 
quite  myself.  I  had  had  a  momentary  glimpse — 
had  for  an  instant  caught  the  glint  of  an  angel's 
wing — but  it  was  gone.  I  was  almost  myself — 
my  old  self;  yet  not  quite. 

"I  did  n't  mean  to  be  unkind,"  I  muttered, 
330 


MY  FUTURE 

"Don't  worry  about  me.  I  've  merely  had  a 
vision  of  what  might  have  been,  and  it 's  dis 
gusted  me.  Go  on  down  to  the  bridge  fiends. 
I  '11  be  along  shortly — if  you  '11  excuse  my 
clothes." 

"Poor  boy!"  she  sighed.  "You're  tired  out! 
No;  don't  come  down — in  those  clothes!" 

I  laughed  a  hollow  laugh  when  she  had  gone. 
Really  there  was  something  humorous  about  it  all. 
What  was  the  use  even  of  trying?  I  did  not  seem 
even  to  belong  in  my  own  house  unless  my  clothes 
matched  the  wall  paper!  I  lit  cigarette  after 
cigarette,  staring  blankly  at  my  silk  pajamas  laid 
out  on  the  bed. 

I  could  not  change  things!  It  was  too  late. 
I  had  brought  up  my  son  and  daughters  to  live 
in  a  certain  kind  of  way,  had  taught  them  that 
luxuries  were  necessities,  had  neglected  them — 
had  ruined  them  perhaps;  but  I  had  no  moral 
right  now  to  annihilate  that  life — and  their 
mother's — without  their  consent.  They  might 
be  poor  things;  but,  after  all,  they  were  my  own. 

331 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

They  were  free,  white  and  twenty-one.     And  I 
knew  they  would  simply  think  me  mad ! 

I  had  a  fixed  place  in  a  complicated  system, 
with  responsibilities  and  duties  I  was  morally 
bound  to  recognize.  I  could  not  chuck  the  whole 
business  without  doing  a  great  deal  of  harm.  My 
life  was  not  so  simple  as  all  that.  Any  change — 
if  it  could  be  accomplished  at  all — would  have  to 
be  a  gradual  one  and  be  brought  about  largely  by 
persuasion.  Could  it  be  accomplished4? 

It  now  seemed  insuperably  difficult.  I  was 
bound  to  the  wheel — and  the  habits  of  a  lifetime, 
the  moral  pressure  of  my  wife  and  children,  the 
example  of  society,  and  the  force  of  superficial 
public  opinion  and  expectation  were  spinning  it 
round  and  round  in  the  direction  of  least  resist 
ance.  As  well  attempt  to  alter  my  course  as  to 
steer  a  locomotive  off  the  track!  I  could  not 
ditch  the  locomotive,  for  I  had  a  trainload  of  pas 
sengers!  And  yet — 

I  groaned  and  buried  my  face  in  my  hands.  I 
— successful"?  Yes,  success  had  been  mine;  but 
success  was  failure — naught  else — failure,  abso- 

332 


MY  FUTURE 

lute  and  unmitigated !  I  had  lost  my  wife  and 
family,  and  my  home  had  become  the  resort  of  a 
crew  of  empty-headed  coxcombs. 

I  wondered  whether  they  were  gone.  I  looked 
at  the  clock.  It  was  half-past  twelve — Sunday 
morning.  I  opened  my  bedroom  door  and  crept 
downstairs.  No;  they  were  not  gone — they  had 
merely  moved  on  to  supper. 

My  library  was  in  the  front  of  the  house,  across 
the  hall  from  the  drawing  room,  and  I  went  in 
there  and  sank  into  an  armchair  by  the  fire.  The 
bridge  party  was  making  a  great  to-do  and  its 
strident  laughter  floated  up  from  below.  By  con 
trast  the  quiet  library  seemed  a  haven  of  refuge. 
Here  were  the  books  I  might  have  read — which 
might  have  been  my  friends.  Poor  fool  that  I 
was! 

I  put  out  my  hand  and  took  down  the  first  it 
encountered — John  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress. 
It  was  a  funny  old  volume — a  priceless  early 
edition  given  me  by  a  grateful  client  whom  I  had 
extricated  from  some  embarrassment.  I  had 
never  read  it,  but  I  knew  its  general  trend.  It  was 

333 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

about  some  imaginary  miserable  who,  like  myself, 
wanted  to  do  things  differently.  I  took  a  cigar 
out  of  my  pocket,  lit  it  and,  opening  the  book 
haphazard,  glanced  over  the  pages  in  a  desultory 
fashion. 

'"That  is  that  which  I  seek  for,  even  to  be  rid 
of  this  heavy  Burden;  but  get  it  of  myself,  I  can 
not;  nor  is  there  any  man  in  our  country  that  can 
take  it  off  my  shoulders — " 

So  the  Pilgrim  had  a  burden  too!  I  turned 
back  to  the  beginning  and  read  how  Christian,  the 
hero,  had  been  made  aware  of  his  perilous  con 
dition. 

"In  this  plight  therefore  he  went  home,  and  re 
frained  himself  as  long  as  he  could,  that  his  Wife 
and  Children  should  not  perceive  his  distress,  but 
he  could  not  be  silent  long,  because  that  his  trou 
ble  increased:  Wherefore  at  length  he  brake  his 
mind  to  his  Wife  and  Children;  and  thus  he 
began  to  talk  to  them:  'Oh,  my  dear  Wife,'  said 
he,  'and  you  the  Children  of  my  bowels,  I,  your 
dear  Friend,  am  in  myself  undone  by  reason  of  a 
Burden  that  lieth  hard  upon  me'  .  .  .  At  this 

334 


MY  FUTURE 

his  Relations  were  sore  amazed;  not  for  that  they 
believed  that  what  he  had  said  to  them  was  true, 
but  because  they  thought  that  some  frenzy  dis 
temper  had  got  into  his  head;  therefore,  it  draw 
ing  toward  night,  and  they  hoping  that  sleep 
might  settle  his  brains,  with  all  haste  they  got  him 
to  bed:  But  the  night  was  as  troublesome  to  him  as 
the  day;  wherefore,  instead  of  sleeping,  he  spent 
it  in  sighs  and  tears" 

Surely  this  Pilgrim  was  strangely  like  myself! 
And,  though  sorely  beset,  he  had  struggled  on  his 
way. 

"Hast  thou  a  Wife  and  Children? 

"Tes,  but  I  am  so  laden  with  this  Burden  that 
I  cannot  take  that  pleasure  in  them  as  formerly; 
methinks  I  am  as  if  I  had  none" 

Tears  filled  my  eyes  and  I  laid  down  the  book. 
The  bridge  party  was  going  home.  I  could  hear 
them  shouting  good-bys  in  the  front  hall  and  my 
wife's  shrill  voice  answering  Good  night!  From 
outside  came  the  toot  of  horns  and  the  whir  of 
the  motors  as  they  drew  up  at  the  curb.  One  by 
one  the  doors  slammed,  the  glass  rattled  and  they 

335 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

thundered  off.  The  noise  got  on  my  nerves  and, 
taking  my  book,  I  crossed  to  the  deserted  drawing 
room,  the  scene  of  the  night's  social  carnage.  The 
sight  was  enough  to  sicken  any  man !  Eight  tables 
covered  with  half-filled  glasses;  cards  everywhere 
— the  floor  littered  with  them;  chairs  pushed  hel 
ter-skelter  and  one  overturned;  and  from  a  dozen 
ash-receivers  the  slowly  ascending  columns  of  in 
cense  to  the  great  God  of  Chance.  On  the  middle 
table  lay  a  score  card  and  pencil,  a  roll  of  bills, 
a  pile  of  silver,  and  my  wife's  vanity  box,  with  its 
chain  of  pearls  and  diamonds. 

Fiercely  I  resolved  again  to  end  it  all — at  any 
cost.  I  threw  open  one  of  the  windows,  sat  my 
self  down  by  a  lamp  in  a  corner,  and  found  the 
place  where  I  had  been  reading.  Christian  had 
just  encountered  Charity.  In  the  midst  of  their 
discussion  I  heard  my  wife's  footsteps  in  the  hall; 
the  portieres  rustled  and  she  entered. 

"Well !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  thought  you  had 
gone  to  bed  long  ago.  I  had  good  luck  to-night. 
I  won  eight  hundred  dollars !  How  are  you  feel- 
ing?" 

336 


MY  FUTURE 

"Anna,"  I  answered,  "sit  down  a  minute.  I 
want  to  read  you  something." 

"Go  ahead!"  she  said,  lighting  a  cigarette  and 
throwing  herself  into  one  of  the  vacant  chairs. 

"tfhen  said  Charity  to  Christian:  Have  you  a 
family?  Are  you  a  married  man? 

"CHRISTIAN:  I  have  a  Wife  and  .  .  .  Chil 
dren. 

"CHARITY:  And  why  did  you  not  bring  them 
along  with  you? 

"Then  Christian  we'pt  and  said:  Oh,  how  will 
ingly  would  I  have  done  it,  but  they  were  all  of 
them  utterly  averse  to  my  going  on  Pilgrim 
age. 

"CHARITY:  But.  you  should  have  talked  to 
them,  and  have  endeavored  to  have  shown  them 
the  danger  of  being  behind. 

"CHRISTIAN:  So  I  did,  and  told  them  also 
what  God  had  shewed  to  me  of  the  destruciion  of 
our  City;  but  I  seemed  to  them  as  one  that  mocked, 
and  they  believed  me  not. 

"CHARITY  :  And  did  you  pray  to  God  that  He 
would  bless  your  counsel  to  them?. 

337 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"CHRISTIAN:  Yes,  and  that  with  much  affec 
tion;  for  you  must  think  that  my  Wife  and  poor 
Children  were  very  dear  unto  me. 

"CHARITY  :  But  did  you  tell  them  of  your  own 
sorrow  and  fear  of  destruction? — for  I  suppose 
that  destruction  was  visible  enough  to  you. 

"CHRISTIAN:  Tes,  over  and  over,  and  over. 
They  might  also  see  my  fears  in  my  countenance, 
in  my  tears,  and  also  in  my  trembling  under  the 
apprehension  of  the  Judgment  that  did  hang  over 
our  heads;  but  all  was  not  sufficient  to  prevail  with 
them  to  come  with  me. 

"CHARITY:  But  what  could  they  say  for 
themselves,  why  they  come  not? 

"CHRISTIAN:  Why,  my  Wife  was  afraid  of 
losing  this  World,  and  my  Children  were  given  to 
the  foolish  Delights  of  youth;  so,  what  by  one 
thing  and  what  by  another,  they  left  me  to  wan 
der  in  this  manner  alone" 

An  unusual  sound  made  me  look  up.  My  wife 
was  weeping,  her  head  on  her  arms  among  the 
money  and  debris  of  the  card-table. 

"I — I  did  n't  know,"  she  said  in  a  choked,  half- 
338 


MY  FUTURE 

stifled  voice,  "that  you  really  meant  what  you  said 
upstairs." 

"I  mean  it  as  I  never  have  meant  anything 
since  I  told  you  that  I  loved  you,  dear,"  I  an 
swered  gently. 

She  raised  her  face,  wet  with  tears. 

"That  was  such  a  long  time  ago!"  she  sobbed. 
"And  I  thought  that  all  this  was  what  you 
wanted."  She  glanced  round  the  room. 

"I  did — once,"  I  replied;  "but  I  don't  want  it 
any  longer.  We  can't  live  our  lives  over  again; 
but" — and  I  went  over  to  her — "we  can  try  to 
do  a  little  better  from  now  on." 

She  laid  her  head  on  my  arm  and  took  my  hand 
in  hers. 

"What  shall  we  do?'  she  asked. 

"We  must  free  ourselves  from  our  Burden," 
said  I;  "break  down  the  wall  of  money  that  shuts 
us  in  from  other  people,  and  try  to  pay  our  way 
in  the  world  by  what  we  are  and  do  rather  than 
by  what  we  have.  It  may  be  hard  at  first;  but 
it 's  worth  while — for  all  of  us." 

She  disengaged  one  hand  and  wiped  her  eyes. 
339 


THE  "GOLDFISH" 

"I  '11  help  all  I  can,"  she  whispered. 
"That's  what  I  want!"  cried  I,  and  my  heart 
leaped. 

Again  I  saw  the  glint  of  the  angel's  wing! 


THE    END 


340 


HB 
83/ 

T7 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


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